


Fire and Ice

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 69,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: She had a fiery personality that drove him wild. He had an icy way about him that chilled her to the core. A simple story of how two broken, completely opposite people fell in love in the aftermath of War. Slow burn Dramione. Rewritten as of 1 February 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This story is being painstakingly beta’ed by tectonictigress. A big shout-out and an eternally grateful thanks to her. She is awesome! Please note that I do not own Harry Potter. This story has been expanded quite a bit. It’s got a little more depth to it this time around and I’m quite pleased with how it turned out. If you would like pdf copies of the originals, you can message me with your email.
> 
> I REPEAT, THIS STORY IS REWRITTEN.

 

_ Some say the world will end in fire, _

_ Some say in ice. _

_ From what I've tasted of desire _

_ I hold with those who favor fire. _

_ But if it had to perish twice, _

_ I think I know enough of hate _

_ To say that for destruction ice _

_ Is also great _

_ And would suffice. _

_ -Robert Frost _

o-o-o

The Burrow had always been a place of comfort to Hermione Granger, bustling with vibrancy and life at all hours of the day. Molly and Arthur had worked hard and survived on meager wages but had raised a family built on love and loyalty rather than riches and materialism. Growing up an only child, it was certainly a huge change to walk into a home that made up for the lack of privacy with an enriched and tight-knit love. 

As she lay in her bed in Ginny’s room, she remembered the summers spent with Ginny alongside the pond, listening as she spoke fondly of Harry; reading under the large oak while the others whizzed around her on their brooms; Molly’s soulful cooking that stuck to her ribs and filled her heart with mirth; Arthur’s kind disposition and unwavering curiosity about her parents and the world where she had been raised.

The War had ended, and with it, Fred’s life. The lively sounds of excited voices, the explosions from the floor below as the twins worked, the laughter and delight—it had all dimmed significantly. Laughter had turned bitter and excitement had faded to exhaustion. Unable to bring himself to face Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes alone, George had moved back home to the Burrow and locked himself away. 

Everything she had once loved about the Burrow had soured on the second of May, though the end of the War was a great victory to the wizarding world. Not that she could honestly blame the Weasley family—she herself felt the sting of the twin’s death. The entire world around them was changing, adapting to life without a constant threat looming in the distance, and her world within the sanctity of the Burrow was transforming as well. Since their kiss in the midst of fear-fueled passion, she and Ron had been nursing a delicate, tentative relationship. 

For years, she had yearned for the love of her best friend, and now that it was readily attainable, everything felt all  _ wrong _ . Hermione tried to tell herself that it was because he was still reeling over the death of his brother and she was trying to cope with her parents living life blissfully unaware of her existence. Their kisses were fumbled and shaky, his hands large and uncertain. She tried to tell herself it was because they were both inexperienced, but she knew that was not it—Ron had been with Lavender and she with Viktor for long enough to gain some experience. No matter. Telling herself that this was just new relationship jitters, she pushed forward. Once the aftermath of the War calmed, they would settle into a comfortable companionship. It was what she had hoped for all along and she was determined to find happiness with him.

There was a soft knock on the door and Mrs. Weasley popped her head into the room. “Hermione, dear? Minister Shacklebolt is downstairs and he wants to speak with you.”

The younger witch had to fight a groan—she knew exactly why the Minister was calling on her. With distinct petulance that she rarely exhibited, Hermione pulled herself up from the bed. Mrs. Weasley was wringing a dish towel between her hands anxiously as she led Hermione down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Kingsley was shaking hands with Ron and Harry. 

“Miss Granger,” he greeted with a kind smile and held his arm out for a hug. 

Giving him a swift embrace, Hermione sat at the worn kitchen table in the Burrow, flanked by her two best friends. The new Minister for Magic sat across from them, his hands folded neatly in front of him, slouched comfortably into his seat. "It suffices to say that the Ministry is impressed with how you handled the events that were presented to you in the last year. You will find enclosed in these envelopes letters offering you each a position in the highly sought after Auror's program."

He slid three envelopes from across the table to them. In the two and a half months since the War had ended, they had given interviews to multiple reporters, been handed book deals, and had many job offers extended their way. Basking in the attention, Ron relished finally being recognized for the first time in his life. Harry hated the limelight but felt that people deserved to know the truth after so many years shrouded in darkness and deceit. Hermione, however, had despised every interaction they'd had with the public since the War.

She wanted nothing except Headmistress McGonagall’s offer to return and complete her final year. Nearing nineteen, Hermione felt as though she needed to finish her education sooner rather than later, let her life follow the course it should have had it not been for the War. Her fingers slowly broke the wax seal of her envelope as the two men on either side of her tore into theirs. A quick scan of the arse-kissing letter contained within confirmed her thoughts. The Ministry had rejected Harry for the better part of his life, refusing to believe Voldemort had returned and then laying down and allowing itself to fall straight into his hands during the War. And now they valued his opinion and hard work? She scoffed. "Glad to see the Ministry has finally come around," she replied, crumpling her letter.

"'Mione," Ron admonished.

"Hermione. Kingsley is the Minister now. Things are changing for the better. It's what we fought for," Harry reminded her.

Shacklebolt nodded. "We're stronger than ever, Miss Granger. We would love it if you all joined our ranks."

"And what? Skip our education? Ignore the N.E.W.T.s in favor of some fleeting chance we could become Aurors?"

"It is more than a fleeting chance. You have already defeated the most evil of all wizards. You three are, in some ways, more knowledgeable than many of the Aurors currently employed," Kingsley argued politely.

Harry snorted at that. "Clearly," he allowed in a rare moment of arrogance.

Ron was reading over his letter, a broad smile across his face. "No more two-foot essays on the alignment of the stars? No more transfiguring teacups into kittens? No more studying in the library with Hermione for days on end?" A glazed look reached his eyes.

Shacklebolt grinned at him. "It is totally hands on. Theory is taught and then put into practice, like an official 'Dumbledore's Army.'"

Ron grinned wickedly and looked at Harry, who seemed to be in agreement. He then caught sight of the look on Hermione's face and his smile fell slightly. "Come on, 'Mione. Think about it. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. We're being offered a job we're overqualified for," he winked at Kingsley who laughed, "and we don't have to sit behind the desk in the Potions classroom while Seamus causes another explosion."

She frowned more deeply. "How long?"

“A year," the Minister replied.

Even Ron looked disgruntled at that. "A year?"

Kingsley sat back again. "Yes. A year. You three are good, but there is still much about the Dark Arts you aren't aware of. It's an apprenticeship of sorts. But there is one thing…"

"Out with it then," Harry insisted.

"No outside contact with anyone for the duration of training. It is dangerous to be exposed to outside influences at such a crucial period of regrowth."

The friends all at him. "So, you want to break us down and rebuild us the way you want us," Harry said, also sitting back and taking in all of the information. "How very totalitarian."

Harry's reference went over Ron and the Minister's heads and Hermione bristled next to him. "Precisely."

"I understand if you need time to think about it, but do not wait too long. Training begins the first of September," and with that, Kingsley swallowed the rest of his tea and stood.

Mrs. Weasley peered into the room. “Kingsley, you must stay for dinner—I’ve made more than enough and it’s been far too long!” 

“I’d love to, Molly,” he replied, winking at the teens before Mrs. Weasley led him into the sitting room where Mr. Weasley and Charlie were talking. The Golden Trio looked at each other.

"I'm going."

"I'm not going."

It was Harry and Hermione who had spoken at the same time. Of course Harry wanted to go—chasing and overthrowing Dark Wizards had consumed his life for almost eight years—it was all he knew. Ron seemed to be torn between his two best friends. He looked between them and gave Hermione a pained look. "Hermione, we may never get another opportunity like this again."

"I've made my decision, Ronald. I want to return to Hogwarts. I enjoy learning, if you hadn't noticed. And I think I've had quite enough Dark Wizard hunting to last me a lifetime. I want to turn my attention to other avenues now," she said, huffing impatiently.

"You can't possibly be talking about spew!" he exclaimed.

"It's S.P.E.W., Ronald, and that is only one aspect of my future plans."

"What about us?" he whispered, and Harry took this as his cue to excuse himself to the sitting room to announce his acceptance.

"What about us?" she asked, avoiding his gaze while knowing full well that he was speaking of the relationship they had danced around for far too long now.

"I thought we were heading toward…something…" he said, grabbing her hand under the table.

"I did, too,” she replied, though there was a contradictory flutter in her stomach. “But that doesn't change my mind. I have no desire to be an Auror. Harry didn't even confer with Ginny before he made his choice, so why are we having this discussion?" Hermione asked, the nauseous feeling in her belly growing more prominent.

"Harry knows that Ginny would hex his bollocks off if he turned it down-"

"Is that what it's going to take for you to accept Shacklebolt's offer?" she asked him playfully, trying her best to hide her uneasy sadness.

Ron looked at her then, conflict clear in his bright blue eyes. She knew he wouldn't want to leave her, but he needed to take this offer. Another offer this sweet probably wouldn't present itself in his lifetime and he wasn't the academic type anyway. Still, that didn't mean she was going to chase after his dreams as her own just to try to salvage the relationship they might have. A relationship she was so unsure of, one that left her feeling far emptier than fulfilled as of late.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, putting her most genuine smile on. "Ron, this is your dream and an opportunity of a lifetime. You'd be a fool not to take it."

"What about us?" he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Get through Auror training and we can revisit us. I will not allow you to throw this opportunity away."

Ron looked pained, though Hermione could tell he was fighting a smile of excitement. "Well, we've got six weeks left of this summer to spend together."

She gave him what she hoped would pass for a genuinely happy smile and grabbed his hand. "Do you want to break the news to your mum before or after you accept the offer?" she asked with a laugh.

He groaned. "After. That way she can't try to talk me out of it."

"Oh, she'll still try to talk you out of it," Hermione reminded him as they entered the sitting room.

Shacklebolt smiled up at the pair and held out his hands expectantly. "Well? Ron? Hermione? What do you say?"

Ron grinned and held his hand out and gave Kingsley a firm handshake. "Can't wait."

Kingsley looked expectantly at Hermione and she bit her lip and averted her eyes as she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm a little sick of my life being in constant danger. I'd rather finish my education at Hogwarts and focus my attention elsewhere."

Shacklebolt's smile didn't waver. "The Ministry's loss, then. We could have used your brilliance on the force. But, I can't say I blame you—you have been through enough trials for a lifetime."

Ginny was busy congratulating Harry, truly happy for him even though she knew she'd be sacrificing her own happiness for the next year. Hermione envied her in that moment, mourning her own loss silently as she put on her best brave face. Kingsley turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, there is another reason why I'm here. We need to discuss your testimony at the Malfoys’ trial tomorrow."

o-o-o

The Wizengamot had stepped out to deliberate and come up with a punishment for Draco Malfoy. He stood in the corridor outside of the courtroom, pacing nervously. They had been out for nearly two hours. His father had been sentenced to receive the Kiss and indefinite incarceration in Azkaban. His mother had been sentenced to five years of house arrest for her part, only brought down from indefinite incarceration because Harry Potter had testified on her behalf about her part in saving his life during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Potter had testified on his behalf as well, much to his surprise. They had never been amicable in school, were even sworn rivals, so for Potter to assist him in any way was humbling. He had testified about how Draco had refused to kill Dumbledore and about his reluctance to identify the trio at Easter at Malfoy Manor.

He was trying not to think about his father's fate as he paced the corridor. A fate that could very well be his own soon. Granted, he had never actually willingly killed anyone, but they knew he had been coerced into participating in torture during the revels. Taking the Mark was the worst decision he had ever made in his life, even if he did believe at the time that it was the right decision. He wished he could take a time-turner and go back to his sixteenth birthday and run far away from Wiltshire, from England. He would go away with the Order and fight for what he knew in his heart to be right and just, regardless of his parents’ desires.

But what was done was done. He had to take his consequences now and it was honestly scaring him to the brink of a breakdown. He couldn't bear the thought that he would be thrown in a cold cell for the rest of his life, his soul sucked out upon arrival. He was trying beyond all hope to calm his breathing and steady his shaking hands as the door to the courtroom opened and a stout witch poked her head out. "We're ready for sentencing, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco tried to swallow but his throat was dreadfully dry. He wiped his sweaty palms against the smooth fabric of his black suit and buttoned the top button of his jacket. Squaring his shoulders, he tried to muster some of the aristocratic sophistication that was expected of him in times of stress. He took his seat in the center of the room once more and felt the shackles close around his wrists and ankles. His heart was racing so harshly, the sound of his blood rushing was filling his ears.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, it is the opinion of the Wizengamot that you are in fact guilty of all charges brought against you-"

He thought he would faint.

"However, many of the charges took place before you were seventeen, Mr. Potter offered a compelling testimony on your behalf, and you willingly supplied memories for us to view in the Pensieve. As such, we have decided to go a different route with your punishment."

Draco sat forward in his chair, trying desperately to quiet the buzzing of his blood rushing behind his ears so he could hear.

"It is the decision of this court that you be placed on probation for five consecutive years. As part of that probation, you are to complete your seventh year at Hogwarts, following all suggestions and requirements that Minerva McGonagall sets forth with regards to your return. You will also present your wand when requested for inspection. That is all. Bring in the next prisoner."

Draco could hardly believe it—he was free to walk out for the first time in over two months. His entire family had been separated and placed into holding cells for so long, he was beginning to forget the feeling of the warm sun against his back. He felt the shackles retreat and slowly rose onto unsteady legs, dumbfounded.

When he went into the corridor, he nearly ran head first into the Headmistress herself. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy. I was hoping I'd see you today. I've got to testify against the Carrows in a while, but I came as soon as Kingsley told me about the conditions of your probation."

"Professor, I-I just want to thank you for this opportunity. I'm not the best at apologizing or thanking people…" Draco was mumbling.

McGonagall nodded curtly. "Yes, and you will spend the next year making amends to myself and everyone else in that school. Without your parents' influence, I trust you'll make the correct judgments."

"Yes, Professor, er-Headmistress."

"You will act as Head Boy, opposite Hermione Granger. You both have the highest scoring academic records out of any seventh-years and we need the image of two opposite Houses getting along. You will also attend the mandatory therapy sessions, held on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the Great Hall, as well as the castle-restoration efforts on Mondays and Wednesdays every week until school begins."

Draco tried to take it all in. It was a lot to be required of him and he knew that complying to the exact conditions would be imperative to his future. He knew better than to argue with McGonagall and simply nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

She lifted her chin and one corner of her mouth twitched. "You're being more respectful already."

He scoffed but grinned. "It's not like I have much of a choice."

She nodded again. "See you Monday, Mr. Malfoy."

o-o-o

Hermione didn't know what to expect when she stepped into the Great Hall on Monday morning. She had told Headmistress McGonagall of her desire to return and McGonagall had laid down stipulations, as she claimed she'd done with every returning former student. Everyone had to assist in restoring the castle twice a week and had to participate in group therapy sessions two more days a week. She had also said she would be assigning each of them a professor to shadow as a student teacher. They were all adults and she felt it was important that they earn their way now, a notion Hermione could appreciate.

The long tables were moved against the walls and one large circular table sat in the middle of the hall. Around it sat the returning group of former students—Seamus Finnigan, Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Luna Lovegood, a year younger than the rest, was seated alongside Neville, their hands clasped between them. With a pang in her heart, she realized that Luna was likely here because she had no home to return to. 

 

Hermione walked slowly toward them, all six pairs of eyes boring into her face as she cast her own downward. No one was really speaking, all sobered by being in the Great Hall once more. The last time they were here, the bodies of their friends lined the walls. “What is  _ he  _ doing here?” Neville questioned, narrowing his eyes as he looked beyond Hermione.

She turned to see Draco Malfoy, well-kept but clearly haunted, saunter into the Hall. His usual arrogant swagger was dulled to a careless gait and he brushed her shoulder as he passed. “Granger,” she could have sworn he uttered under his breath.

Hermione followed his figure and watched with parted lips as he took a seat between Theo and Blaise.  _ He looks sickly.  _ She shrugged in Neville’s direction—her fellow Gryffindor paling as he stared at the pallid countenance of the Malfoy heir. His presence settled over them like an icy fog, silence ringing for a few awkward moments.

"Well, aren't we a merry bunch of arseholes," Seamus commented, earning a laugh from a few of the guys.

"This is the most mismatched group of students that could possibly have returned for seventh year," Theo conceded.

"Eighth year, for you all," Luna commented, looking at everyone in turn. "Some of you were here last year," she looked at Neville, "and some of you were educated in far beyond what the professors in this school could teach." She looked pointedly at Hermione then.

There was a plate of biscuits in the middle of the table and each of them had a goblet of pumpkin juice. Seamus lifted his glass in a toast. "Here, here. A toast to Hogwarts' first group of eighth-years—the biggest bunch of ne'er-do-wells and outsiders to ever come together!"

Theo raised his glass and the others followed suit, save for Malfoy. He remained with his arms crossed and Theo nudged him with his elbow. Malfoy rolled his eyes and reluctantly raised his glass. He was going to have to play nice if he was to meet the conditions of his probation.

McGonagall came striding in then and cleared her throat. "I trust there's no alcohol in those drinks."

"I didn't know that was an option," Seamus said cheekily and Theo laughed.

Hermione could see that they were the Gryffindor and Slytherin side of the same coin. She inwardly groaned. They were going to be trouble together, she just knew it.  _ Never a dull year.  _

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Right, well, let's get you your assignments and then I will take you to where you'll be staying."

"We won't be staying in our House dorms?" Justin asked, looking suddenly disturbed at the idea that he might have to stay in a dorm with the Slytherins.

"No, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Those dorms are for current students. We've had to make…other accommodations."

Even Neville gulped. McGonagall began pairing everyone up and Hermione internally groaned once more when Malfoy meandered lazily to where she stood. Of course she would have to work with him, the Fates wouldn't have it any other way. She tugged on the sleeve of her jumper and the movement did not escape Malfoy's gaze. He immediately scowled and shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes trained on the floor by his right toe.

"Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy, you'll be heading up the restoration of the library. This may be an assignment that extends well beyond the next six weeks as it suffered considerable damage. Miss Granger, you will shadow Professor Hagrid in Care of Magical Creatures. Mr. Malfoy, you will shadow Professor Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey both. Poppy needs assistance with replenishing her healing potions."

She doled out the assignments to the other six, but Hermione wasn't listening. She was staring into the corner of the Great Hall, picturing Fred Weasley's body lain on the cold stone floor, his family grouped around him, shaken but thankful for those still living. She had entered a hazy memory and evidently didn't notice when McGonagall led them out of the Great Hall and towards their new dorms. "Are you coming, Granger?" Malfoy asked, waving his hand in front of her face.

She snapped out of her thoughts with a shake of her head. She could taste the pungency of the Dark magic from that day on the tip of her tongue, smell the metallic scent of blood if she only closed her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."

"By all means, then. Move your arse. Neither of us knows where we're staying," he said, irritation coloring his tone.

"No need to be rude, Malfoy. Some of us lost loved ones in this room," she said to him coldly, shoving past him to follow the others.

He winced at her words and tone but sighed and followed. This was not going to be a pleasant year, Hermione decided then and there. Without Harry and Ron to act as her buffer, Malfoy's wrath was going to be directed solely at her and she hardly had the energy to deal with that any longer.

They followed the Headmistress through the castle and up to the seventh floor. There was a tapestry of Merlin himself hanging on the wall where she’d stopped. "Persnickety." The tapestry raised itself on one side and the door popped open behind. "Well, come on then."

They all climbed through the door and gathered in their new common room. It was a cozy room with a large marble fireplace. There were black leather couches and heavy dark wooden tables. Desks lined the walls with high-back, comfy-looking chairs. The entire room was decorated in a rich, royal purple instead of the usual four House colors. "This is your new House color. We need to create unity in this group. You all are adults now and the old schoolhouse rivalries need to end," she looked pointedly at the Slytherins, and Theo put a hand over his heart and mouthed  _ 'Moi? _ '

"It is important for the children to see you all as role models for more than just being war heroes. We are going to call you the Wulfric House in honor of Dumbledore and your mascot will be the phoenix. We have informed Madame Malkin's so that she can sew new robes for you."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “How very Gryffindor and Hufflepuff,” he sarcastically hissed through clenched teeth. Hermione glared at him. 

"There are five rooms and two bathrooms for you all to explore. Miss Lovegood, you will be in the Ravenclaw dorms, as you are still on track to graduate at the appropriate age. Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger, if you would follow me," McGonagall said, turning and waving them along.

She pushed through a door with a large phoenix burned into the wood. They followed her down a brief hall and into another, smaller common room. "I trust you can both live alongside one another without there being any problems?" she asked, looking solely at the moody wizard before her.

Malfoy shrugged and his countenance turned defensive. "I'm just trying not to go to Azkaban."

The headmistress seemed pleased with his answer and she gestured toward two wooden doors and a conjoining bathroom between. Malfoy looked into the one with 'Head Boy' burned into the door. He wrinkled his nose. Even the bedding was purple. No matter, as soon as he was settled in, he would transfigure them to his signature black.

There was a commotion in the main common room and they followed the sound of excited voices. "It overlooks the Quidditch pitch!" Blaise roared excitedly.

Malfoy ambled over to the window to join the other men, his arms crossed as he stared out over the damaged hoops and tattered House flags. Hermione looked at Luna and rolled her eyes. Men. The eighth-years had been banned from joining the Quidditch teams as part of the unifying of their new House. They were too old and had an unfair advantage over the younger students. But apparently being able to watch Quidditch practice from their window as they studied pacified them all.

"If you all would, head down to your respective assigned restoration areas and begin formulating a plan with your partners. You may leave at four o'clock each day by using the Floo Network in this fireplace. This will be your entry and exit point until the first of September. I hope that this is suitable to all of you. We really are pleased that you’ve decided to return once again, despite the horrors housed within these walls only a few months ago." McGonagall gave them all a strict smile and a curt nod before she turned to leave them.

Hermione stared after her retreating form as the others moved around behind her. Their voices faded as she closed her eyes and tried to clear all of their nonsensical chattering from her mind. Who honestly cared about Quidditch when no less than a dozen people had lost their lives on the path between their common room and the pitch? Who cared about Quidditch when the world was in shambles all around them and they were—quite literally—left to pick up the pieces, to mend a new world from the rubble of the old?

Her feet began to carry her away, the voices of her peers echoing loudly through her mind as she willed it to quiet for once. It registered to her that there was a second pair of footsteps following her at a distance and her hand closed around her wand instinctively. She turned swiftly, wand raised and Malfoy stood with his hands raised, a bored look on his face. “Really, Granger. Put that thing away before you take my eye out,” he told her, pushing her wrist down with a harsh force. “We were told to head to the library, so I’m complying, like a good little example of the Ministry’s probationary program.”

He walked past her and Hermione took a few deep breaths as she turned to follow. She felt much safer following him, her wand still trained at his back from where her hand hung by her hip. 

o-o-o

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Another chapter beta’ed by the fabulous tectonictigress. Many thanks to her! And additional thank you’s to bailey4047 and Caprubia for prereading to make sure I’m not losing my mind in rewriting this!

Chapter 2:

Hermione sat in the warm July sun with the other eighth-years and Luna. The first group therapy session was getting ready to begin and the therapist had suggested that they go outside. The giant squid was splashing playfully in the Black Lake as they all stretched out in the grass. Everyone else had stripped off their extra clothing, wearing the bare minimum to cover themselves, but both Hermione and Malfoy kept their long sleeves on. She was sweating and lifted her hair away from her neck in a big puffy mess, stray hairs sticking to her skin. Looking at Malfoy, Hermione was pleased that his own hair was matted to his forehead as he used his hand to brush the glistening sweat off of his face. She didn't fancy having anything in common with him, but at least she wasn't suffering alone.

The therapist was an elderly woman with a kind disposition named Esmeralda Little. She had everyone sitting in a circle, their eyes closed and breathing steadily to begin their session. Hermione opened her eyes briefly to glance around the circle. Seamus and Theo were listening intently, Blaise was pulling blades of grass from the ground, Luna seemed to be doing some deep meditative breathing, Neville looked nervous as he wiped his sweaty palms against his trousers, and Justin was irritated to be sitting between two Slytherins. Finally, her eyes landed on Malfoy. He was sitting back against his palms with his legs crossed in front of him. His eyes were closed but he had a deep scowl on his face.

_ How dare he? _ Out of everyone here, he was the least worthy. His family was part of the problem—they fought on the opposite side of the War until the last moment. He didn't have any loved ones lined up on stretchers along the walls of the Great Hall. No, his parents and he had survived unscathed; his father was still breathing valuable air, Kiss or no Kiss. Malfoy’s punishment was light—returning to Hogwarts and keeping his head down? And he had the audacity to sit there and look put out? She huffed loudly, and he opened one eye and looked in her direction. She closed hers quickly and when she did her thoughts transfigured.

They had been cowards, Voldemort-sympathizers, the opposition. But the steel grey of his eyes brought her back to the ballroom where she had laid in a pool of blood as his aunt had carved into her arm. The haunted, horrified way he had clenched his eyes shut to avoid seeing her writhe beneath the crazed witch. The way he smelled, the feel of his warm breath as he had nearly panted with fear as he knelt alongside them. The hesitance in his voice as he fought to find a solution and avoid turning them over the Voldemort. Hermione felt her heart ache within her so powerfully she brought a hand to her chest and had to breathe deeply for a few long moments to get the feeling to subside. Reopening her eyes, she chanced a glance in his direction to find him staring up at the castle beyond her.

"Okay, please open your eyes. The point of these sessions is to introduce you to the concept of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is common amongst Muggles who fight in wars or the like, but it rings true for magical beings as well. I hope to teach you how to identify signs of PTSD, triggers unique to each of you, and techniques on how to cope when an episode does rear its ugly head.” The witch was walking around their circle, speaking in a professional yet sympathetic tone. "While this will be offered to the younger students during the school year, each of you is going to have a full schedule as you serve an apprenticeship of sorts with the professors of this school. As such, over the next two months, Headmistress McGonagall has asked that we work in a group setting, as well as one-on-one to learn these triggers and coping mechanisms. There are other types of therapies I’d like to explore with you all as well. Each of you will step out of your comfort zones in the upcoming weeks, but hopefully the zone you step into is a soothing and calming environment, free of judgment or hatred,” Healer Little said sweetly, giving them all a sympathetic smile. “I'd like to begin by going around and introducing ourselves to one another. Please state your name, what you hope to accomplish this next year in school, and what you wish to do as you move on from here."

She began with Hermione, her smile growing wider as she called on the younger witch. She clearly knew who she was. "I'm Hermione Granger. I hope to…have one school year where I can focus on nothing but my education. After this, I'd like to fight for the rights of magical beings and creatures." Hermione thought it was best to keep it brief—no need to divulge too much of her personality or thoughts in these sessions.

Everyone wanted to make it through the year unscathed. Seamus wanted to go on to own a pyrotechnics shop; Theo wanted to become a lawyer; Neville wanted to grow the necessary herbs and plants needed to supply St. Mungo's; Blaise wanted to become a Professor here at the school—Care of Magical Creatures or Potions; Justin wanted to become a doctor—either Muggle or Magical (he hadn't yet decided); Luna wanted to travel the globe, searching for wrackspurts and nargles (to which Malfoy snorted a small laugh and Hermione shot him a death glare). Finally, Malfoy was up, and every set of eyes bore directly into him as he shifted uncomfortably where he sat. The non-Slytherins were all doubtful of his return, hesitant to accept him.

He cleared his throat and averted his eyes from his fellow peers. "I'm Draco Malfoy. I want to…prove myself to everyone…and I hope to go on from here to study…maybe alchemy or potions."

He was mumbling, and it was Justin who spoke up against him. "Prove yourself? Haven't you done that time and again as your family sided with You-Know-Who?"

Malfoy bristled and opened his mouth to say something just as the therapist cut him off. "There will be none of that during these sessions," she shot at Justin. "Everyone here has fought a battle and has proven themselves worthy to be here. If that were not true, Headmistress McGonagall would not have allowed his return."

Theo was giving Justin a deathly stare, almost willing Justin's head to explode. "Don't worry about that prick, mate," he muttered to Malfoy, his eyes never leaving Justin.

Hermione stared at the protective stance Theo had taken, even while remaining seated. She had never thought of the stoic and offensive Draco Malfoy as needing defending, even when he had slunk around with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. It was clear there was something more to their friendship than just being Slytherins and silently wondered if their bond was anything like the one she shared with her two best friends. Her mouth went dry as she thought about the boys, who were likely taking advantage of the sunny day and flying on their brooms with Ginny leading the way. She returned her focus to the agitated Healer.

"If we are quite through with the childish name calling and insult throwing, perhaps we could move on?" Healer Little asked, her hands on her hips.

Justin recoiled and sat back on his haunches once more, rolling his eyes. "Whatever."

"There are ten common reactions to trauma. Let us touch briefly on each today, and next session we will discuss triggers. The first reaction is fear and/or anxiety." She was still walking around the circle with her hands clasped behind her back. "Can anyone tell me why one would begin to feel anxious or fearful in the aftermath of the War?"

Everyone's eyes turned to Hermione expectantly, but it was Malfoy who spoke up. "One could feel those emotions as a response to a changed perception of the world. You go so long thinking the world is one way and then war happens, and your sense of safety is shattered."

Hermione stared at him, her lips parted as she took in his thoughtful response. Perhaps he truly was remorseful underneath that icy protective façade he wore—not unlike the mask of secrecy he had donned during the most shameful moments of his life. Healer Little nodded as she pondered his response. "Excellent. I can certainly see why you would answer with such a sentiment, and I’m sure everyone else here can agree,” she tapped his shoulder softly and Malfoy tensed with the contact. “The second reaction is re-experiencing the trauma. We will go through this when we speak about triggers next session. Third is increased senses. Meaning you may feel jumpier or easily startled and more prone to react without thinking it through."

"The fight or flight response," Hermione offered, thinking back on the quickness with which she had drawn her wand on Malfoy in the corridor the day before.

"Precisely. I will try to teach you all techniques to avoid both fighting and running, instead replacing those behaviors with constructive ones. The fourth reaction is avoidance. This can be even more dangerous than any of the other reactions."

"If you avoid the painful thoughts and feelings, you will effectively push away all other positive emotions. I'd imagine that, for some, those emotions would be difficult to discern from one another," Malfoy added quietly, plucking a blade of grass between his fingers.

The people in the group were looking from him, to Hermione, to the Healer. The two of them were the only people adding insight to the conversation the Healer was trying to initiate. Justin was still looking at the former Slytherin, disgusted that he dared to speak about PTSD, as though there was no possibility that Malfoy could understand what the rest of them were experiencing. Theo was nodding thoughtfully as he stared at his friend, something unspoken passing between the two. 

"The fifth reaction is anger, irritability, and swift annoyance with others. Pretty self-explanatory. The sixth is guilt and shame. Can anyone tell me why someone with PTSD might feel guilty or ashamed?" the witch asked, stopping her pacing behind Neville.

"We survived when so many others didn't," Hermione whispered, more to herself than anyone else, though Healer Little sighed morosely and nodded in agreement.

"Yes. You all survived events that very few people in this world could understand. I will go into the reasons why you should not feel either of those particular emotions. The seventh reaction is depression and grief. We will go through techniques to assist you through those negative emotions as well. The eighth reaction will speak to you personally, Mr. Malfoy: a negative self-image."

Her intended target continued to stare straight ahead, though he gave a short nod and swallowed hard. He apparently didn't appreciate being singled out amongst the group—a feeling Hermione could comprehend, possibly more readily than anyone else seated around them. This thought further unsettled her—just one more way she could possibly relate to Draco Malfoy. 

Justin scoffed in disgust. "His self-image? He did everything to earn the dirty looks and doubt being thrown his way now."

"That's it," Theo said, rising to his feet at this point and Justin rose to the challenge.

Malfoy stood as well and put his hand on Theo's chest. "Fuck him. He’s not worth getting kicked out of Hogwarts for. I can't go back to Azkaban," he was pleading quietly with Theo.

Hermione had her wand in hand, ready to toss the two apart should they engage in a duel, or worse, a fisticuffs brawl. Theo looked down at his pale friend and nodded, clenching his jaw. "One more snide comment and I'm pounding his face in," he warned, stepping closer so that Malfoy had to take a step back.

Seamus tried to stand in front of Justin, sensing the tension unwavering. "Stop it, mate."

Justin pulled his shirt straight and pushed Seamus away. "Fuck you. Fuck all of you for laying down and accepting this betrayal by McGonagall."

And with that, he stalked off into the castle. The Healer looked around at the rest of them, her lips pursed in a severe manner that immediately had the rest of the men withering. They returned to their sitting positions. "Mr. Finch-Fletchley will come around. He's clearly suffering under the weight of his own emotions. The subsequent sessions will hopefully help him."

Theo scoffed but said nothing. Why did he feel the need to defend his friend when Malfoy himself wasn't willing to get into an altercation? Granted, Malfoy had Azkaban hanging over his head. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the ninth reaction occurs within personal relationships—with family, friends and significant others."

"That's fairly obvious," Hermione noted, thinking of the pseudo-relationship she was in with Ron. Since his brother had died, his family had been in utter turmoil, and it put a definite strain on their friendship and dampened the feelings she had once thought were so strong. 

"The final reaction is to turn to illicit drugs, potions, or alcohol to numb the feelings altogether," the Healer said. "Now, alcohol is banned on campus, but no one is daft enough to believe that you all do not have access to these items."

Seamus smiled faintly, and Theo nodded. Those two were definitely going to be trouble. "That is going to be the hardest battle for some of you, but the easiest for others," Healer Little informed them. "I would encourage you all, as much as possible, to avoid situations where you may be tempted to drink alcohol, at least until you have learned the other coping techniques."

"When are we going to go through coping mechanisms?" Luna asked, opening her mouth for the first time since they had introduced themselves.

Healer Little wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and took a deep breath. "Each of the subsequent sessions until the school year begins, we will cover one of the reactions and how to cope with the negative impacts of each. I’ve also tailored a therapy program to each one of you to help when times get rough. You may find it beneficial to also assist and work with one another, either in pairs or groups, to experience new and potentially calming activities. Once the school year starts, the Headmistress has asked me to offer assistance, should any of you need it."

For reasons unknown to Hermione, she felt better knowing there would be at least one person she could talk to during what was sure to be a lonely year. She looked at the ragtag team of adults sitting around her, each having suffered their own battle during the War, but none having shared  _ her _ battle. She wished once more that her two best friends were with her and wondered if she was making the right decision in returning. Trying to picture herself in Auror’s robes, Hermione’s stomach began to roil and she shook the image from her head. It wasn’t the path she was meant to travel. 

“Now, if you all would, line up here and I will give you the time and location of your personal therapy sessions,” the Healer told them, retrieving a small bundle of ribbon-tied parchment from the pocket of her robes. 

Hermione was behind Malfoy and Theo, who were standing side-by-side. Malfoy was scowling and scrubbing a hand over his face as Theo spoke adamantly. “I swear, mate. This is not the year to fuck with me. I’ve been your silent, overlooked friend for far too long. Not anymore—I will beat his arse the Muggle way if he steps out of line again. I have nothing to lose—my father is dead and Daph left me.”

They stepped forward and the Healer handed Malfoy his scroll. “This one may be more entertaining once the school year begins, but you may find that you can teach your ways to some of your fellow veterans here.”

Malfoy turned the scroll over in his hands and raised a brow as he stepped away. Theo took his and gave the Healer a wide grin. “I so look forward to our one-on-one time, Madam. I think you’ll quite enjoy delving into the depths of my mind—it’ll be the topic of your next bestseller.”

The Healer smiled back and touched Theo’s face. “I’m sure we’ll become quite acquainted over time, Theodore.”

Hermione watched as Theo clapped Malfoy on the shoulder and the two spoke quietly as she stepped forward. The Healer handed her a small scroll, tied neatly with a royal purple ribbon. “Miss Granger. You’ll be working with an old friend. I do hope you find it suitable to your needs and allow yourself to heal.”

She tucked Justin’s scroll back into her pocket. "I think we have spoken enough for the day. I will see you all next time," Healer Little said, waving a hand to dismiss them and pulling the collar of her robes from her neck. "Mr. Longbottom, if you would let Mr. Finch-Fletchley know I will be waiting in the Great Hall for him to join me."

Neville nodded and followed Luna into the castle. Seamus struck up a conversation with Blaise about their restoration of the Quidditch pitch and they walked off toward the stands together. Hermione turned the scroll over in her hands and sighed. She felt like an outsider as she watched Theo pull Draco into a brotherly hug and Draco return the sentiment. "They just don't fucking get it, Nott," Malfoy was saying.

"Just be yourself. If they accept you eventually, great. If not, fuck all of them.  _ You are not your father _ ," the tall, dark-haired wizard said as he pulled away from his comrade.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Hermione and Nott followed his glare. "Something we can help you with, Granger? Got any more insults to throw at him? Want to kick a man further while he's already down?" Theo asked, his playfulness with the Healer once again dissolved into his prior anger.

She swallowed nervously and shook her head. "I was going to head to the library and wanted to know if Malfoy would like to get a jumpstart on our restoration project."

"For fuck's sake, Granger. We've got well over a month and then an entire school year to finish. I know you're anxious to be back in your natural habitat, but can't you just give it a rest for one day?" Malfoy questioned, stalking past her. “Discover your therapeutic activity and go amuse yourself elsewhere.”

She watched as he walked into the castle in a brisk manner, appearing entirely too graceful for such an angry man. Theo stepped up to her, his voice menacing as he spoke to her through clenched teeth. "You tell your boy Justin to back the fuck off. If Draco goes to Azkaban because of him, I can assure you I will share a cell with him because I will kill that bastard."

And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked away as well. Hermione was in utter disbelief. How was Justin 'her boy'? She had hardly said a hundred words to him in seven years and now it was her responsibility to make sure Justin and Malfoy didn't get into it? This year was already shaping up to be disastrous and it hadn't even started yet.

Why was Theo so overprotective of Malfoy? Sure, they were both Slytherins and both of their fathers were former Death Eaters, but Theo Nott had never been part of Malfoy's gang of bullies.  _ I’ve been your silent, overlooked friend for far too long.  _ Malfoy didn't seem like the kind of person who could get close enough to trust anyone. And yet, they had just embraced like brothers would, like she had seen Ron and Harry do plenty of times before.

She ambled slowly into the castle and made her way to the library. When she arrived, the state of the room—unchanged from the day before, when she could not bring herself to touch a thing—instantly made her heart heavier. The books were scattered all over the place and the shelves in desperate need of repair. Torn pages littered the aisles and the chandeliers that hung overhead were all cracked. She and Malfoy certainly had their work cut out for them.

Hermione pulled a chair out from beneath the closest table and collapsed into it, emotionally drained from her first interaction with the Healer. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and unrolled the parchment.  _ Equine therapy with Professor Hagrid. His hut; dusk.  _ Equine therapy? Horses? Her mind immediately went to the silvery blood of a unicorn, maimed by Quirrell during their first year, and she clenched her eyes. Unicorns were notoriously skittish—how could she possibly be expected to work closely with them? 

She rose and went to the closest window. While the glass had been blown from most of the panes, this window remained intact, and she raised her sleeve and wiped away enough grime to peer out. Hagrid’s hut looked the same as it always had, having been fully restored after the fires that had ravaged it just over a year before. Thick, hazy smoke billowed from his chimney and a smile graced her face as she thought of the rock cakes he always had waiting when he knew they were visiting. For the first time since returning to the castle, hope began to burn within Hermione’s heart. 

 

o-o-o

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Draco was sitting in the common room with five of the other returning students. Justin had made himself scarce and Granger, he was sure, was holed up in the library, probably sniveling over the damaged literature. Seamus had already snuck in some Irish whiskey and was pouring everyone a gratuitous shot. He was grateful when the Irishman handed him a glass and poured a little extra. "Don't worry about Justin, mate. We're all just trying to make it through one day at a time," he told him, and Draco could see that he was hesitant but attempting cordiality.

Draco nodded and tipped his glass toward Finnigan. Save Granger and Finch-Fletchley, everyone else was at least attempting to be agreeable to his return. He didn't miss the sideways glances that his peers were shooting him—the Slytherins wondering if he was going to snap at any point and the others picturing the possible heinous atrocities he had committed under Voldemort's guidance.

Granger had made no effort to conceal the glares she shot at him at every opportunity. He could tell it got under her skin that he was answering questions with the same tenacity she demonstrated.  _ Serves the swotty little bint right _ , he thought smugly. He decided right then and there as he tossed back the whiskey that he was going to make it his personal mission to one-up Granger academically at every turn. Without his father breathing down his neck and then using corporal punishment as a disciplinary tactic, he decided to treat the competition between Granger and him as a sport. He had nothing to lose and no one could fault him for wanting to excel this year—he had already admitted he wanted to prove himself to everyone.

He walked to the window and surveyed the Quidditch pitch. According to the scroll Healer Little had handed him, this was to be his sanctuary for the duration of summer and into the school year.  _ Flying and Refereeing Quidditch. Quidditch pitch; duration of your stay.  _ There was substantial damage to the hoops and the stands, but he had no doubt that it would be repaired before school started with Blaise and Seamus assigned to its restoration. As much as he hated children, he loved flying and this position would, no doubt, release some tension.

Turning away from the window, he saw that Theo and Blaise were eyeing him as though he were suddenly going to have a fit. They were his best friends—his true best friends, unlike Crabbe and Goyle, who were more or less the cronies his father had appointed to follow him around. Their expectant stares were making him just as uncomfortable as the sideways glances the non-Slytherins threw his way. With a chinking sound, Draco placed his shot glass down and poured himself another healthy dose. Reaction number ten: the use of illicit potions or alcohol to numb the feelings. He was certainly falling into that trap with ease.

He looked around at his peers and saw each one had the same weary, exhausted look he knew was a permanent fixture on his own features. These others—they had all won the War, fought against his side and come out victorious. They should have worn bright, cheery countenances without the threat of the Dark Lord, but instead, they all appeared just as broken as he felt. None of them knew how to cope with their post-War life. While Luna Lovegood was slowly sipping her alcohol, obviously put out by the taste, the others had thrown back their shots like seasoned alcoholics. 

Draco realized quickly that he had no idea how to earn the trust of the others in Wulfric House. He had always thought himself superior because of his pureblood status and strong surname; he’d not cared much about how he appeared to the students he deemed “unworthy”—the blood-traitors, the Mudbloods, the Dumbledore sympathizers. But the War had been fought and he had been the opposition. These people had all lost someone or had otherwise been deeply affected by what people on his side had done to them. Their bodies were littered with scars, members of their families buried six feet below or hospitalized in St. Mungo’s. He had no doubt that their nights were filled with terrible nightmares. Nightmares of the atrocities his side had committed.

Had it ever really been his side? At the age of thirteen, when he had begun to question his parents’ beliefs, he had been quick to point out the impossibility of Mudbloods being inferior if one was surpassing him in every class. That remark had earned him a triangular formation of scars on his right shoulder blade, a trifle little mar in comparison to the most heinous of all the scars—the angry red skull and snake that tattered his forearm. The black had faded after the Dark Lord's downfall but left behind a violent reminder of all of Draco's past indiscretions. 

At the end of his fifth year, his father had been incarcerated in Azkaban and he was suddenly thrust into the position as Head of the House of Malfoy, left to carry on his father’s work during a time of turmoil. Voldemort had more or less threatened him into joining his ranks. It had become apparent to Draco only a month into his task that the Dark Lord had intended for him to die trying to kill Dumbledore.

Furthermore, after his failure to assassinate the Headmaster, he had been subjected to repeated rounds of the Cruciatus Curse, amongst other corporal lashings and beatings. Then, after what had seemed like endless weeks of being brought in front of the Dark Lord only to be put through physical pain unlike any he had ever felt in his life, it ended. He had been given an ultimatum then: torture Muggles and Mudbloods during the revels, and kill if necessary, or be tortured himself. 

Draco had come home after every revel and retched pitifully into the toilet, his head spinning and mind clouded with the sounds of the screams. He had managed to avoid killing anyone—the others were more than happy to take his place there—but he felt as though death would have been merciful compared to the repeated rounds of the Cruciatus he had put innocent people through. Their only "crime" had been that they were born without purely magical blood in their bodies, and he had caused them immeasurable pain.

When Draco laid his head down on the pillow every night, their screams replayed in his mind. The startled looks on their faces as they begged for their lives played like a reel, over and over again. He hadn't slept more than a few stolen moments here and there in the last two years and he doubted he ever would again.

Yet, everyone in this room believed that he had willingly joined the Death Eater's ranks, that he had reveled in harming others. Everyone, save Theo. With Pansy’s death, only Theo now knew of the extent to which the atrocities weighed on him. Only Theo had bothered to sit there and listen to Draco as he rambled on and on about the nightmares and the screams that tore through his brain every waking moment. He hadn't judged him when Draco had shed tears. He hadn't offered him words of false comfort as he cried over his mother's fate. He hadn't deserted him when he got locked up with the other Death Eaters for two months in Azkaban.

Theo kept to himself while he was in school, focusing more on his schoolwork than making friends. But Draco knew that Theo would always be there for him, just as Draco had always been there for him when Nott, Sr. had made his life hell. It was a mutual bond they shared, and both were grateful for it. They had grown up together as sons of Death Eaters and reluctant participants in the war against muddied blood.

Theodore Nott, Sr. was dead—currently haunting the Slytherin dungeons—and Lucius Malfoy might as well have been for the shell of a man he was now. It was time their prejudices died with them. Theo's mother had died during childbirth—a victim of a pureblood curse—and Narcissa Malfoy couldn't venture farther than her flowerbeds due to the house arrest. There was no one left to influence them negatively, and they had agreed before coming back to Hogwarts that they would make the effort to show everyone how they had changed. It would be easier for Nott, he didn't have the angry red stigma seared into his arm for people to sneer at and recoil away from.

Draco knew this year was going to be torturous in its own way. He certainly had his work cut out for him trying to separate himself from his father's negative legacy. Perhaps his best course of action was to simply isolate himself and avoid interaction at all costs. Reaction number four: avoidance. He was doing splendidly.

“You alright, mate?” Blaise asked, breaking Draco from his self-loathing thoughts.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he pushed away from the table he had been leaning on. “Yeah. I think I just need to be alone.”

Blaise wrinkled his brow in concern and exchanged a glance with Theo. “You sure?”

Draco rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Yes. I’m not going to off myself. I just need to be away from everyone right now.”

Theo nodded, though he still looked perturbed on Draco’s behalf. “We’ll come looking for you if you aren’t back by four,” he told Draco’s back as he climbed out of the portrait hole and moved the tapestry of Merlin. 

 

As he made his way down the staircases, he noted the apparition of the dead Weasley twin, whispering conspiratorially with Peeves the Poltergeist. Keeping his eyes downcast, he quickened his pace. “Oi,  _ Malfoy! _ ” Weasley barked and Peeves grabbed his shoulder, shaking his head in Malfoy’s peripheral. “Save it. You know he can’t see you.”

 

“What is the point of being a ghost if I’m banished to this fucking in-between state?” Weasley lamented.

 

Little did they know, did anyone know, that Draco  _ could _ see the mournful spirits of the War’s casualties, just as anyone could clearly see the Bloody Baron or Moaning Myrtle. Maternally a Black, he inherited an ancient sensitivity to the dead that very few wizards had any knowledge of, and even fewer possessed. 

 

It had been a jarring experience to see his psychotic aunt, skipping over the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall when he had first reported for therapy that first day. Her countenance had grown cruel and taunting and she had gleefully cackled about the massive failure to the Black and Malfoy families Draco had proven to be. He had steadfastly ignored her, hoped that she would come to believe that the gift hadn’t been passed down to him. His cousin, Nymphadora, had called her off, verbally speculating that his magic must have been far more sculpted by the Malfoy lineage than Black. 

 

His ability wasn’t a common knowledge, outside of the ancient families that possessed the anomaly, and for that Draco was grateful. He could keep his eyes trained at the floor and ignore the jeering taunts his aunt threw and the pathetic speculations on his cousin’s part. There was one deceased individual that caused an internal battle within him. Her death had been catastrophic to his already-fragile psyche and he knew he was in no way ready to face her once more. Not like this. Not when he couldn’t hold her. Not when she was a translucent shell of her former self. 

The air was still stagnant when he exited the castle, yet he could breathe a little more readily than he had in the castle. Pushing aside the unpleasant thoughts of the castle’s latest deathly occupants, and without a clear plan of what to do when he was in the bright sunshine once more, it seemed his feet knew exactly where to go. Within moments, he was standing in the middle of the disastrous quidditch pitch, staring at the crooked stands and disintegrating banners. With a glance around, his heart grew heavier. 

War, he decided right then for the thousandth time, ruined  _ everything _ . Had it only been three short years prior that he had flown high above these stands in search of the golden snitch? A thousand days ago he never would have guessed that he would one day pray for Harry Potter’s life to be spared. Yet, that was  _ precisely  _ the thought that had consumed him for the entirety of the last year. There had not been a moment to spare to think of such dalliances as quidditch or trivial childhood rivalries.

War tainted everything it touched. The innocence that accompanied a game of quidditch was wiped and the pitch was marred with burns and blasts. The hoops stood like splintered stakes, the once lush grass now brown and scorched beneath his feet. A place that had once brought him comfort when his mind was troubled, or when he had rowed with Pansy about something so utterly pointless, now brought feelings of despair and discontent. 

How the fuck was he supposed to come back to this castle and pretend as though nothing had changed when every aspect of his life had been tipped on its head? Even something as inconsequential as flying on a broomstick seemed like an activity he had participated in during another lifetime rather than a few short summers ago. 

Draco ran a hand over his jaw and ground his teeth as he made his way to the Slytherin locker room. The door was hanging on a single hinge and swung open readily at no more than a slight tug.  _ “Lumos!”  _ he whispered, stepping over tattered jerseys and shattered lockers. 

The room still smelled of sweat and the horrendously heavy cologne that Urquhart had insisted on wearing.  _ “Catches birds,”  _ he would always say with a saucy wink, though his face was enough of a deterrent to keep said ‘birds’ away. Draco snorted at the memory as he made his way to the chest of old brooms at the back. The chest remained intact under a particularly large fallen wardrobe. He levitated the cabinet away and lifted the lid of the chest, revealing a dozen ancient broomsticks.

He sifted through and found the least shabby broom. Navigating his way out of the locker room, he squinted at the bright sunshine once he was outside. As he moved to mount the broom, his fingers danced over something carved into the handle.  _ E. Rosier.  _ Rosier had been in attendance during his first revel, his hysterical and diabolical glee at the misfortune of Muggles and Muggle-borns notorious amongst the others. Hissing a breath through clenched teeth, Draco brought his wand to it and used a controlled  _ Incendio  _ to burn the name from the aged cherry wood. Once it was no longer evident that a name had once been carved into the handle, he mounted once more.

Few things could calm Draco like flying on a broom. His control of the instrument was eased and masterful, years of practice and muscle memory guiding him ever higher. Turning away from the Pitch, he closed his eyes for a moment as the warm summer air blew over his face. A bead of sweat slid down his back and he made quick work of the buttons on his shirt before sliding it down from his shoulders. The sun on his back felt like the kiss of a long-awaited lover, pleasant and readily welcomed. 

A look toward the castle showed more devastating damage, and in an act of avoidance, he turned away and headed toward the cliffside instead. When he had been younger, and the quidditch pitch had been occupied, he oftentimes found himself at this cliffside. Dismounting the broom, he listened for the rush of the rivers that cut through the Scottish mountainside. Deep ravines carved into the lush greenery over thousands of years. Constantly moving. Unchanging.

The familiarity and consistency of his old haunt soothed him, and he sat close to the edge of the cliffside, at the base of an oak tree whose branches hung precariously over the cliff’s edge, it’s roots twisted and reaching toward the castle. Staring down into the gully, he watched the rushing rapids of the river as they skipped over rocks and skidded over the cliffs’ edges. Draco had become a master of adaptation over the last few years, but he still suffered with feeling out of sorts everywhere he traveled. The Manor made his stomach churn with the foreboding and horrific secrets being whispered into his ear from the walls of every room. The castle was in shambles and the two days he had been back felt like torture rather than relief. 

This spot overlooking the river held no mystery, no secrets. If he were to freefall from his place by the oak tree, he would surely meet his end. As fucked up as that thought was, it brought Draco a comfort he could not readily explain to anyone. He could be the master of his own fate, should he so choose. Sitting with his back against the tree, he closed his eyes to listen to the river’s rushing waves, one leg stretched out before him, the other dangling over the cliff’s edge.

o-o-o

At precisely dusk, long after the others had returned to their homes for the night, Hermione made her way down the winding path toward Hagrid’s hut. Light spilled from the windows and cast an inviting glow over the tentatively growing pumpkin patch, each member of the new crop already larger than her father’s Volkswagen. For the first time, she noticed a large structure looming at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. From within, she could hear the sound of hooves clopping over the ground. 

“’Ermione!” Hagrid’s voice drew her attention back to his hut, where he was currently filling the entirety of the doorway.

A smile spread wide over her face and she felt a pang in her chest as she quickened her step. “Hagrid!” she exclaimed, genuinely excited for the first time in months. 

The half-giant held out his arms and she tossed hers around his waist. It had been months since she had seen the groundskeeper, and she fought the image of him cradling Harry’s limp body from entering her mind. “’Ow’ve you been? Come in, come in,” he told her, stepping within the hut to make room for her to pass. 

Fang stood and sauntered to where she was, licking her face in one slobbery swipe. She laughed as Hagrid swatted him away. “Go on now, yeh bloody beast. Let our ‘Ermione be! I made a fresh pot of tea and cakes, just fer yeh. Even collected honey from the apiary.”

The smile on her face refused to waver as she took her seat. Fang took a place at her feet and she petted his ear, silently promising the rock cakes to him if only he would remain by her side. Hagrid placed a floral-printed tea kettle on the table between them. Tipping an amber liquid into his pail-sized teacup, a grin broke out over his bearded face. “’Ow’s ‘Arry? Ron? Yer been offered a position with the Ministry, yet?”

The smile finally faltered on Hermione’s face and she cleared her throat. “We were. Harry and Ron chose to accept right away. As you can guess, I decided against an Auror’s position.”

“Had enough, eh?” he questioned softly, pushing a plate of cakes toward her.

“More than,” she replied, taking a crumpet and pretending to nibble it.

“Can’ say I blame yer,” he told her, and the look on his face was one of understanding and melancholy. “Been a rough year.”

Hermione had no desire to relive the horrors of the year and took a sip of tea, nearly choking on its muddy consistency. She spooned a teaspoon—or three—of honey into it and gestured toward the window that overlooked the new structure. “Healer Little says you’ve got new creatures. Unicorns?” she questioned, biting her lip.

Hagrid shook his head vigorously as she passed her tea cake to Fang under the table. “Oh no. No—our herd o’ unicorns lef’ us during the Final Battle. Skittish because of all the noise. Lost one in the commotion.”

What else could be making that noise in the barn then? “Thestrals?” she asked, her throat going dry at the thought of the skeletal, ghastly creatures.

“Nah. They’re a temper’mental bunch, too. Better. Came across these beauties when Yaxley Manor was raided,” Hagrid told her, excited energy radiating from him. “Haven’t seen a creature as beautiful as these since Madam Maxime’s herd.”

“Abraxans?” Hermione was quite surprised. “The Yaxleys were keeping Abraxans?” 

“Well…I wouldn’ say “keepin’”, per se, more or less abusing,” Hagrid told her, his voice a feral growl at the thought. “But, I managed to get ‘em to trust me.”

“And Healer Little thought I would be a good choice to help you keep them?” she asked, standing when Hagrid began to make his way toward the door.

“No—I did,” he replied over his shoulder, taking the ten meters to the barn in a few short strides that had her jogging to keep up. 

Hermione’s heart began to sink. Hagrid had a knack for handling “misunderstood” creatures—typically dangerous and always rare. Recalling Norbert the dragon and Fluffy the Cerberus-like hell hound, she found herself dreading the task. When Hagrid threw the barn doors open, an involuntary gasp passed her parted lips. 

Within the huge barn were three majestic winged-horses, standing a meter taller than Clydesdales. Madame Maxime’s had been palomino blonde, but standing before her was a gigantic onyx male and two smaller females—one snow white and the other a marbled, dapple grey. Hagrid moved into the barn, petting down the male’s mane proudly. “Aren’ they beautiful?”

Her mouth hung open and Hermione could do no more than make a strangled noise before she gathered herself. She could not disagree with him, but their sheer size frightened her. “They’re massive.”

Hagrid, who stood slightly taller than them, looked at the grey one fondly. “They’re jus’ misunderstood. Gentle as a lamb and wouldn’ hurt a baby. Come closer.”

Hermione stood frozen to the spot and the horses looked at her curiously. “This one here is Hades—strong as an ox and twice as stubborn,” he scratched behind the male’s ears and the horse leaned into his touch before turning back to his food trough.

He turned next to the grey female, the smaller of the two. “This one is Artemis. A curious li’l lady with ‘er snout in yer pockets. And that i’ory beaut o’er there is Themis—doesn’ like change, much. Be gentle with ‘er and she’ll come ‘round.” 

“Come on then, don’ be shy,” Hagrid urged, and Hermione shook the disbelief from her head and took a step forward.

She held her hand out toward Hades, who immediately put his ears flush against his head and jerked his head back toward his food. Withdrawing her hand, she held it close to her chest. “Ah, quit bein’ a grump,” Hagrid chided, toeing the trough. 

Artemis sniffed around Hermione, her breath ruffling Hermione’s hair as she stood stark still. “She likes yeh,” Hagrid said with a smile and he ran a hand lovingly over her silky black mane and grey coat.

She scrunched her shoulder up to her ear as the horse sniffed around her neck and laughed. “That tickles, girl.”

As though she could understand Hermione, Artemis nudged her with her velvety snout. Hagrid’s eyes grew soft around the corners as he looked merrily at them. “I knew you were the righ’ witch fer the job. Couldn’ stand teh see them sold off or slaughtered. An’ yeh always fightin’ for creature rights. Little sad tha’ Charlie took the dragons,” he mentioned, his smile faltering slightly.

Hermione made a mental note to kiss Charlie next time she saw him as the white horse took a few steps and hid halfway behind Hades. “Themis, is tha’ any way t’ greet yer new friend?” Hagrid asked, making a clicking noise with his tongue and holding out a handful of rolled oats. 

Themis peeked around Hades’ rump and Hagrid walked toward her. “Task is an easy one. Jus’ come down in th’ mornin’ and nigh’ if you can and check on ‘em. Maybe take ‘em out and let ‘em fly. Brush ‘em and give ‘em treats. They got some age ter ‘em, so it’s all about making their final days peaceful. Healer Little insists yer see her once a week so she can extrac’ memories. Wan’s to study yer reactions and behaviors while yer work with ‘em, I s’pose, ” he finished, and there was a distinct distaste that told Hermione he didn’t fully trust the Healer’s line of work.

 

“I’m really looking forward to assisting you this year,  _ professor _ ,” she mentioned, a small, genuine smile spreading across her face at the way his face positively beamed. 

 

“All righ’ le’s get yer better ‘quainted with the herd,” he told her, turning away to hide the blush that bloomed over his beard-framed cheeks.

Hermione looked at the three Abraxans and watched as Themis lifted a wing and fluffed her feathers. Healer Little clearly thought this was going to be a soothing therapeutic experience and Hagrid had faith in her ability to connect with these creatures. Artemis sniffed around her pockets, and finding it utterly devoid of treats, turned her attention elsewhere. “I’ll take good care of them,” she promised, and Hades eyes flashed with what she perceived as a challenge.

o-o-o

Hermione wound her way up the stairs at the Burrow that evening, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. With a soft knock at Ron’s door, she held her breath whilst listening for his reply. “Yeah?” his voice was gruff.

Hermione entered the room and refused to meet his gaze as she shut the door slowly. “Hey,” she squeaked.

“Where have you been?” Ron questioned, sitting up on his bed and tossing his copy of  _ Cannons Craziest Calls  _ on the nightstand. “It’s nearly  _ eleven _ .”

She wrinkled her brow as she made her way to where he sat at the edge of the bed. “I was unaware I had to check in with you. But I was with Hagrid.”

“Hagrid?” Ron looked confused. “Why? How is he?” he managed, sobering some at the reminder of one of their oldest friends.

Hermione smiled and pat Ron’s knee as she sat beside him. “He’s doing well, I think. Fang’s still kicking. He’s taken on a small herd of Abraxan horses and he and the Healer both thought it would be good for me to work closely with them. Soothing even.”

“You hate flying,” he pointed out unnecessarily, his mouth curving into a lopsided smile as he leaned back on his palm and used his free hand to push her hair over her shoulder.

Drawing her lip between her teeth, Hermione laughed lightly. “I don’t have to ride them—they’ll fly alone.”

“Abraxans? Good luck—they’re notoriously difficult and stubborn,” he told her, leaning in to kiss along her shoulder. “Not unlike you. You should have Floo called to let me know you were going to be late.”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” she shrugged.

“We’ve only got a few weeks left before we’re separated for a year. Don’t you want to spend it together?” Ron asked, nuzzling her and placing sloppy kisses along her jaw. 

Did she want to spend it with Ron? He was her best friend, but something had shifted toward more than friendship and with it, a deep-seated malcontented feeling coiled within her belly.  _ You’ve wanted this for so long _ , she reminded herself as she tilted her face to capture his lips with hers.

o-o-o

_ A/N: This chapter is dedicated to  _ **_Bailey4047_ ** _. I used her babies are the inspiration for the abraxans, because I just love them so. Beta love to  _ **_tectonictigress!_ ** _ You’re a gem! _

 

_ Thank you for the support you all have shown as I go through and redo the original. Please review, let me know what you think of the changes. _

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to tectonictigress. You the real MVP, babe!

Chapter 4:

"There's really no reason for me to even go home at the end of every day. I have nothing to go home to," Luna told the room collectively, a melancholy taking over her normally airy demeanor.

Hermione felt for Luna, knowing that her father was staying in a bed at St. Mungo’s, right alongside Neville’s. Guilt gnawed at her stomach with the knowledge that he had been captured by Death Eaters when she, Ron and Harry had fled his home. Unimaginable acts had been committed against him, turning his mind to gibberish, and it was their fault for ever dragging him into their task to begin with. Yet, Luna held no ill will toward her, showing a kindness that Hermione did nothing to deserve.

"McGonagall said we could stay, should we choose to," Seamus reminded her. “I don’t see much point to the back and forth either.”

“We could still visit your dad every day, if you’d like,” Neville told her quietly, taking her hand as she gave him a sad smile.

Malfoy and Theo looked at one another and shrugged. “You can’t stand your mother's emotional suffocation and there’s no fucking way we’re ever setting foot into Nott Manor with all of the bad memories that surface around every corner,” Theo mentioned in a voice so low, Hermione thought she may have misheard. 

While everyone else seemed to agree that moving into the castle early was the best course of action, Hermione was hesitant. There were only six short weeks left to spend with Ron before he would be isolated for a year. When a few others looked at her expectantly, she sighed. "Ron and Harry are getting ready to start Auror training and I won’t be able to see or speak to them for an entire year,” she told them, wringing her hands as she thought over her options. “But unifying is important if we are to be role models for the younger students.”

Malfoy's head shot up at that and he scowled at the news, and Hermione smiled smugly at his discomfort. He had a lot of gall to look so unhappy considering Harry's testimony was the only reason he wasn't rotting in Azkaban next to his father. 

“A compromise, then,” Blaise suggested, flipping through an Italian magazine lazily. “You stay here Sunday night through Thursday night and go spend time with the Weasels on the weekend.”

Hermione glared at his nickname, which only made the sly grin on his face widen significantly. “That’s…not a bad idea actually. Ron won’t be too happy, though,” she muttered.

“Ron loves you,” Luna pointed out and Hermione felt the vice clench around her heart at those words.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and stood from his place at the desk. "If we are quite through discussing living arrangements, I believe we have a library that won’t restore itself," he said moodily, turning on his heel and not waiting for Hermione to follow.

She rolled her eyes at his retreating back and groaned—he was such a prick. Neville tapped her shoulder comfortingly. "Good luck. You're going to need it," he whispered, for which Theo and Blaise both shot a glare in his direction, causing Neville to bristle under their gazes. 

Hermione followed Malfoy at a safe distance down to the library, watching the light catch his swath of blond locks through the broken windows that lined the corridors. He stopped abruptly in the entryway to the library, raising his wand to light a few sconces along the walls. The devastation was extensive in this particular room and even Malfoy seemed to feel a twinge of sadness at the state of the books surrounding them. "We need to repair the shelves first. Then we need to pick through and salvage the books that aren't too badly damaged—the students need some kind of reference texts. Once that is complete, we can begin the arduous task of piecing together the completely obliterated ones," he said, looking around grimly.

Hermione nodded, unable to argue with that logic. She’d been here a few days prior but hadn’t been able to bring herself to touch a thing in the hallowed room. 

She was dressed in a pair of Muggle jeans and a thin long-sleeved shirt, prepared to get dirty, but she let out a snort of a laugh when Malfoy removed his robes to reveal a similar get-up. He looked at her, his brows furrowed. "Is something amusing?”

"I just never thought I would see Draco Malfoy in Muggle clothing," she said, turning to the nearest aisle and eyeing the ancient potions texts.

"Granger, I bought these clothes in Diagon Alley. And it wouldn't be very practical to wear a suit or robes while cleaning up this dusty old place," he rolled his eyes as he raised his wand and pointed it at the closest chandelier, muttering a few incantations to repair the cracks and broken glass.

Hermione knelt down on the floor and started to stack random pages, running her fingers sadly over the broken bindings of the books she had spent so many hours memorizing. She began making piles on the nearest table as Malfoy recited the incantations to repair the shelves. He was careful to say extra charms to bind the wood of the shelves, and she wondered if he expected this to happen again in the future.

They worked for the better part of the day, neither speaking to the other, both lost in their own thoughts. After a full day's work, they stood in the doorway and surveyed the fruit of their labors—Hermione was disheartened to realize they had barely made a dent in the restoration process. She sighed heavily, placing her hands on her hips. Malfoy seemed to share her sentiment. "This is definitely going to take longer than six weeks," he muttered, turning to leave.

They made their way up to the common room, silence falling between them once more. Hermione was thinking of Malfoy's bond with Theo, how neither wanted to face their prior lives and return home. Though she wished desperately to ask him about it, to understand what those from the opposition were feeling, she decided against it. She and Malfoy had never actually had a decent conversation that didn't end with him hexing her teeth to grow uncontrollably or her punching him in the face. She smirked at the thought of Malfoy's face after she'd hit him and he looked over at her, his face wrinkling in obvious irritation. "Care to share, Granger?"

"Not really, you foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach," she replied, altogether too chipper.

His face fell as he recalled the incident and he worked his jaw as they reached the common room. Inside, the others were making plans to retrieve all of their items from their homes for the new school year. Malfoy groaned next to Hermione once the conversation registered with him and Theo walked up to him and clapped him on the back. "We need to do it, mate. We should probably get Eugene away from your mother before she overfeeds him."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.  _ Eugene?  _ Malfoy didn't seem like the kind of person who would own an animal—more like the kind of person who would mindlessly kill them instead.

Following Luna and Neville, she stepped through the Floo to head to the Burrow and felt her heart beating rapidly at the prospect of having to break the news to Ron and Harry that she would only be spending time with them on weekends. Stepping into the warmth of the Burrow, the smell of Mrs. Weasley's cooking made her stomach rumble immediately as she headed out to the garden. Ron and Harry were outside with Ginny, racing around on the broomsticks—new Firebolt 5000s—that had been sent to them as 'thank yous' for their part in the War. Once she stepped into the hot July air, Ron immediately touched down right in front of her and brought his lips to her temple. "How was Hogwarts today? Did you cry incessantly at the sight of all of the broken books?"

She glared at his insensitivity, and he winked and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm just kidding, 'Mione. How was your day, really?"

Hermione drew her lip between her teeth and his face shifted into a frown. “What is it?”

“Everyone is moving into the new dorms to better build unity between us and to have more time to work on the restoration of the castle. It’s in complete shambles right now,” her voice rushed out in one breath.

Unsurprisingly, Ron grew visibly agitated at the news, retracting his arm from her and crossing them in front of him. "I thought we were going to spend all of our time together? We haven’t been apart more than a couple of months since we met!" he reminded her, though his ears grew scarlet at the reminder of his abandonment during the Horcrux hunt.

"This really is for the better. There is so much work to be done and it seems to double every day," Hermione tried to reason.

"Maybe I shouldn't go," Ron commented, his frown deepening.

Hermione smacked his arm, gritting her teeth. "Should I get Ginny to hex your bollocks off? That's ludicrous, Ronald!"

"How are we going to make it through an entire year, 'Mione? Even when…when I left the search for the Horcruxes. I couldn't stay away from you, I missed you too much."

Hermione felt her heart swell in equal parts appreciation for him and sadness at the thought of his leaving. "You need to go to training, you can't pass this opportunity up. Once you get back we'll have our entire lives ahead of us together."

Still not completely agreeable to the idea, this sentiment seemed to pacify him some. He grinned and placed a shy kiss on her lips. He was still awkward when it came to physical affection, and Hermione would have found it endearing if it weren’t for the way her stomach twisted at every touch. He put an arm around her and led her into the house. "Well, we should probably get to packing your things then," he said in a tone that suggested he had no desire to pack anything and had other activities on his mind.

_ The love will come with time,  _ she reminded herself as she laced her fingers with his.

o-o-o

Hermione stepped through the Floo with her trunk and Crookshanks' crate in tow. Neville stepped away from Luna and swatted her hand away from the heavy trunk. "I'll take this to your room for you," he offered, and Hermione smiled at the simple gesture.

He followed her down the hall leading into the Head commons and into her designated room. "I don't know how you're going to share this area with Malfoy," Neville commented, shivering at the thought. He set her trunk along the wall and frowned lightly. "I never thought he'd come back here."

Hermione shrugged and released a grumpy Crookshanks from his cage. As long as Malfoy kept to himself and didn't speak to her, she was sure she could make it through one year of sharing what amounted to nothing more than a room in which to study and a bathroom. "I'm hoping to ignore him and that he'll extend me the same courtesy."

"He's never been the courteous type," Neville pointed out.

"True," Hermione conceded, unlocking her trunk to begin making her room feel more like home.

She was thankful when Neville stepped out to return to Luna. As she was closing her door, she heard Malfoy open his and call to Neville before he could sneak out of the Head area. "Oi, Longbottom. I need a steady supply of glowworms. Do you think you can manage to get them for me from the greenhouses?"

Hermione heard Neville mutter an "I think so" before retreating, and she wondered why Malfoy needed glowworms. Must be for Eugene, whoever that was. With a sigh, she surveyed the entirety of her room. Everything was so dark—the wood, the furniture, the deep purple of the bedding. She raised her wand and pointed it directly at the bed. Fighting the urge to turn it Gryffindor red, she instead transfigured the bedding from a deep, royal purple into a dainty patchwork quilt in varying patterns and shades of lilac and violet. 

She levitated her extensive collection of books—both Muggle and magical—onto the bookshelves that lined the walls. There was a paperclip on the desk and she transfigured it into a bed for Crookshanks. He meowed his gratitude as he settled into it and she scratched behind his ears. While neatly stowing her clothing in the wardrobe, she absently thought about how she still needed to head to Madam Malkin's to retrieve her new robes. 

Hermione wondered if she should ask Luna to accompany her. Of everyone’s changed personas, Luna’s worried her the most. She understood the change completely, but to see someone who once hunted Nargles and made jewelry from butterbeer corks turn disillusioned and practical was heart-wrenching. Hermione knew her father’s mental health was weighing on her eccentric friend heavily. Reaction number seven: depression and grief.

o-o-o

It was raining heavily and so the eighth years and Luna were crowded around a round table in the Great Hall. With a loud echo, the door opened and McGonagall strode in with someone following closely behind. “Students, if I could have your attention,” she asked quietly, and Draco noted that her voice held a softness he didn’t recognize. “We have one more returning seventh year who has decided to join us for the summer.”

She stepped aside and motioned for the other individual to step forward. At first, Draco hardly recognized the girl, but once her identity became evident, his brows raised toward his hairline. It was the Brown girl—Rose or Lily or something. He recalled that she had once been attractive—in an artificial, bottled sort of way. Now, she had a ghastly scar running down the length of her face from her hairline to her collarbone, a few vertical alongside. Her arms were covered with long sleeves, but he was certain, if the way she tugged at them self-consciously was any indicator, that they were covered with scars as well. 

Granger gasped from across the table and her hand rose to cover her mouth. It registered, somewhere at the back of Draco’s mind, that this witch had once ensnared Weasley. He could picture the spectacle they had created once upon a time, snogging at the back of the classroom while the teachers were out. At the time, Draco had been so consumed with trying to stay alive and devising an assassination plot that he had not had time to register Granger’s reactions to Weasley’s grotesque displays of affection. A look in her direction now and he could sense tension as Brown sat next to her.

His eyes darted from the young witch to a corner of the room where the spirit of the  _ fucking  _ hell hound of the Dark Lord’s was smiling salaciously in her direction, pawing at the front of his trousers. Bellatrix cackled, her laugh filling the air around the students, though no one else knew. Draco carefully averted his attention before he drew the ghosts’ attention his way.  _ How the fuck will I make it an entire year with them close by?  _ His heart, already bursting at the seams with despair and self-loathing, sunk a few stones deeper as the sound of their voices carried him back to the Manor. To  _ her.  _ Twisting and contorting beneath his crazed aunt.  _ No! _

Fighting the Darkness, he took a deep breath, his eyes clenched tight as he tried to calm his thoughts.  _ Not here. Please. Not now.  _ It was several moments before he could clear his head of the cacophony of horrid screams, cackles, and leering stares. When Draco reopened his eyes, everyone was looking around vacantly, no one seeming to know what to say. Healer Little swept into the room, wiping rainwater from her forehead. “Ah, Miss Brown. I was hoping to see you after our talk!”

Brown continued to stare at the table top as she gave a short nod. Blaise, who was far too extroverted and kind for his Slytherin status, leaned into her. “I came across a rather curious item at the Inner Eye Divination Supply the other day. I’d like for you to take a look and tell me what you think it might be,” he mentioned casually, sitting back into his chair and giving her a wink when she looked up at him incredulously.

"You’re just in time, Lavender. Today, we are going to discuss triggers and delve deeper into what can potentially cause you to re-experience the trauma," Healer Little announced gently.

Draco knew this was going to be the most difficult session he'd have to sit through. He relived the trauma every time he closed his eyes and he didn't fancy discussing this weakness with the others. He had barely contained the thoughts just a few moments before. The idea flickered through his head to get up and walk out. He glanced at McGonagall, who sat in a far corner of the Hall, observing the Healer’s interactions with the students. If he got up and left, he would no longer be allowed to return to school, and his probation would be revoked.  _ This is better than Azkaban,  _ he reminded himself.

"A trigger can be anything, really—an event, object, smell. Anything that can immediately take you back to where you were when the trauma occurred. I would imagine that all of you are currently thinking of a time when you were transported back a few months, just by hearing a certain noise or smelling a certain scent," the elderly witch commented, knowing full well everyone was recounting their own triggers.

"What I'd like to do today is go around and each of us namelist a specific trigger that we have. I understand if you are not comfortable talking about these things in front of others, but I do encourage you to share. You might find that you feel the weight being lifted off of your shoulders as you listen to others share similar experiences. Let's just go right around the circle—list a trigger and describe the scene it brings you into."

Draco ignored the voices of the spirits around them. The others couldn’t see them, hear them, or feel their presence. If he mentioned that they long deceased individuals’ voices triggered something within him to snap, almost daily since he arrived back at school, they would believe he  _ had  _ gone mental. He bit the inside of his cheek twice, contemplating the next closest thing to trigger he experienced, weighing whether it was more or less embarrassing than looking like a crackpot in front of the others. The Healer gestured to Longbottom. "Mr. Longbottom, why don't you share first?"

He shook his head and the therapist placed a kind hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Neville. No one here is going to judge you or use this information against you later."

Draco didn't miss the quick glance in his direction from Neville. He rolled his eyes—he had so many demons of his own, he had no desire or will to tease Longbottom for his. He leaned back and crossed his arms in an uninterested way, hoping to convince Longbottom that he wasn't going to use this against him later. He seemed to grow nervous but opened his mouth to speak. "The trigger is a sudden sharp pain—if I hit my knee hard enough I could easily go back…"

"Go back where, Neville?" Luna asked softly, placing her hand over where he was wringing his.

"To this room. When the Carrows had us performing the Cruciatus Curse on other students," his voice faltered.

Draco shivered in his seat, despite the Hall's warm temperature. He had been at the Manor, sitting alongside Voldemort for the better part of the school year, and had luckily missed the Carrow's Dark Arts lessons. He couldn't imagine torturing anyone sitting around him at this table. "The Carrows are never coming back here, Longbottom. There is nothing to worry about anymore," Seamus assured him.

The Healer witch nodded. "Ms. Granger, how about you?"

Granger was biting her lower lip and Draco suddenly had the urge to reach out and run his thumb over the swollen flesh. He shook his head lightly and leaned forward to listen. What would make the brains of the Golden Trio recoil in fear of past events? Granger's voice was small when she spoke.

"Thunderstorms. The sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning…"

_ Thunderstorms _ ? Well, that was certainly absurd. Who could possibly be afraid of mother nature? Draco wrinkled his nose. She continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lucky for me, it’s only raining right now…"

"And where does the sound and sights of a summer storm bring you, Ms. Granger?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, his arms still crossed, his expression stony. She sat back in her chair. "To this room…to the Final Battle. It was so chaotic…there were spells flying everywhere and the sounds of the castle crumbling and bodies hitting the floor…"

She stopped, and Seamus put an arm around her. "It's okay, Hermione. We get it. We were all there, you don't need to continue."

It was true, everyone sitting around this table had been present the night of the Final Battle. Everyone here had watched as fellow students, people they'd spent seven years living among, were killed in the blink of an eye. No matter what side, it was difficult to watch children being murdered.

Seamus spoke next in a very matter-of-fact tone that Draco could appreciate. "I can't stand the smell of blood. I haven't been able to stomach the smell of raw meat in months. I think about the bodies that were crushed under the fallen castle walls."

Pansy Parkinson had been one of those bodies, Draco remembered. The only female he had ever had true feelings for had been one of those to perish under the crushing stones that crumbled around them as the castle shook at every blast of a misfired spell. Merlin, what he wouldn’t do for one more day with her.  _ Alive.  _ He knew he couldn’t live through visiting her now—his heart wouldn’t survive it.

The Healer looked at Justin who had reluctantly rejoined their group sessions. "The sight of the Dark Mark," he looked pointedly at Draco's covered forearm. "It brings me to the night Dumbledore died, when we entombed him. I knew then that people were going to start dying, I just didn't know how many. I can still feel the despair that we all felt as we raised our wands in remembrance."

Draco looked at the table before him as he squeezed Theo's knee, warning him not to say anything. He deserved that, he knew. It was, after all, his fault that Dumbledore was dead, his fault that the War had begun the way it did. The Healer cleared her throat. "Mr. Nott, what about you?"

Theo averted his bright blue eyes and cleared his throat. Draco wondered silently what horrifying memory Nott would share. He had an entire lifetime of horrible memories to choose from, each one more horrifying than the last. "Honestly…I don't know if your own reflection can be a trigger, but every time I look at myself, I see my father. I cannot separate myself from him…from the atrocities I witnessed. I remember my childhood…he blamed me for my mother's death, and I see his body lying in the dungeon hallway here in the school and I feel…relief?"

The Healer nodded and Draco clenched his jaw. He knew Theo had never told anyone about the abuse he'd suffered at the hands of his father and he knew he was placing a lot of trust into the other eight students sitting at this table by mentioning it—however briefly. He clapped his friend on the back, proud of him for finally saying something aloud.

Blaise spoke next. "Screaming. It doesn't even matter if it's joyful or fearful screams. I went to a Quidditch game a week ago and when everyone started screaming as a player fell from his broom, I had an episode and had to go to the bathroom and splash water on my face. I just kept hearing the screams of all of the girls when Voldemort started speaking to the school, trying to urge us to hand Potter over to him."

Draco remembered that incident perfectly. He was already on his way to retrieve Crabbe and Goyle and make his way to the Room of Hidden Things when he heard the Dark Lord's rasp come over the castle. He'd wanted to retch then and run as far away from the castle as he could manage.

Lovegood spoke her turn. "I can't stand the sight or smell of dirigible plums. We had them growing outside of our house my entire childhood. But…then the Death Eaters came, and I was kidnapped… and I remember looking at the dirigible plums as the men pulled me past our wards to Apparate us to…" she looked up at Draco and he averted his eyes. She'd been Apparated to his home to be held as a hostage.

When he looked up, Lovegood gave him a small smile and mouthed, "It's okay." He nodded once at her and his heart grew heavy. He didn't deserve Luna's forgiveness—he couldn't even forgive himself.

"That's a crying shame, that is. Dirigible plum pie is one of my favorites," Seamus commented lightheartedly, making Luna laugh lightly.

“Lav…what about you?” Neville questioned, pouring her a glass of pumpkin juice and setting in front of her.

Brown, who hadn’t glanced up for more than a few moments at a time, finally raised her eyes and looked at the wall over Draco’s shoulder. “I’m not sure what it would be. I have nightmares every night and I have no way of knowing what brings them on. I thought being back here in the castle would be harder than it is, but…”

Lovegood put an arm around the girl and she burst into tears. “What is wrong with me? Why aren’t I feeling all of the grief and apprehension?”

Healer Little knelt next to her and took her hand between hers. “Lavender, everyone grieves in different ways. The War links all of you inexplicably, but the experiences you all had are unique. Never feel that the way you grieve is any less significant than the way Hermione or Draco may.”

Brown’s eyes turned toward him, as though she only just realized he was in attendance and she looked toward his forearm. He promptly tucked it beneath the table and her lids fluttered shut. He had not attacked her, but a surge of guilt wracked his entire body as the bitter taste of regret tainted his mouth. Had he killed Greyback when he had the chance, the Brown girl—and countless others—would not have been maimed or killed.

Healer Little gave her a handkerchief and a pat on the shoulder. “Mr. Malfoy, why don’t you speak? Do you have something that triggers your flashbacks more often than not?”

Draco was the only one who hadn't spoken yet and he swallowed hard. What was he going to say to his peers? They were looking at him expectantly. Theo had bared his soul, as everyone else had. He knew he needed to tell the truth, but he knew that no one other than Theo could sympathize with him.

"I've made a lot of bad decisions in my life…" he began.

The Healer cut him off. "You don't need to take the blame for anything, Mr. Malfoy. Reaction number six is guilt and shame. We will discuss that another day. Just state one trigger and what it reminds you of."

Draco swallowed hard once more, choosing the easier of the triggering events. "It's…the smell of vanilla and parchment and rain…I-It brings me back to a specific incident that happened in my childhood home, the feeling of helplessness, the sound of horrifying screams…"

He shook his head and avoided the confused look Granger was giving him as she tried to solve the riddle he just spun. Everyone else, save Finch-Fletchley, was giving him a pitying look. Theo nodded thoughtfully. He knew precisely the incident that Draco was discussing—they had talked about it only once before and Draco had been so full of raw emotion and remorse that Theo would never forget that conversation.

The Healer nodded and began pacing around their circular table once more. "Each of you has gone over one trigger that bothers you, seemingly more so than others. Each of you has gone through different battles from two opposing sides of the same war. But all of you have one thing in common—the need for relief from the negativity that plagues you."

"But how to cope with the triggers?" she asked thoughtfully. "Avoid them? No, no…that's reaction number four. So, what then? How do you think we're going to attempt to combat our triggers?"

Lovegood spoke. "Some kind of meditation?" she offered.

The Healer nodded. "Precisely. There was a reason we started the last session with ten minutes of breathing. Meditation and breathing exercises are the most effective methods of reducing stress."

Draco rolled his eyes. What kind of shit was this Healer trying to feed them? "Problem, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked in a clipped tone.

"You want us to breathe our problems away? I was hoping you would teach us how to hex our own minds into shutting off," he replied incredulously.

"We're not going to just breathe as you do to sustain life, Mr. Malfoy. We're going to implement breathing techniques to help reduce stress when it presents itself in the form of a trigger."

He shook his head but said no more. There was no use arguing—he needed these sessions to stay out of prison. The Healer seemed satisfied with his silence. "Now, the secret is not in taking deep breaths, but in taking long breaths. Let us all join hands and close our eyes," she said.

Draco closed his eyes and took Lovegood’s and Nott's hands. They were sitting around holding hands like some damn culty family, sharing their feelings like bloody Hufflepuffs. If his father knew what Draco was getting up to, he would be at the school raising hell. With a tightening in his chest, he remembered that his father was never going to raise hell on his behalf again.

"I want you all to take a normal breath in through your nose. Okay, good. Now, as you exhale through your mouth, release the air slowly, saying a word to yourself to slow your pace. For example, you can say the word 'calm’—caaallllllmmmm."

Draco released the air, using the word 'ridiculous' as he exhaled. The Healer encouraged them to breathe at their own pace, always in through the nose and out through the mouth. "Try to clear your minds. Try to bring a pleasant thought to the surface and snuff out the negativity."

He thought back to the first time he had ridden a broom, with the feel of the air across his chubby six-year-old face, the nervous squeal of his mother, and the barking laugh of his father below him as he soared upward. He could clearly see the land beyond the Manor and, despite himself, these pleasant thoughts were beginning to drown out the horrifying screams that normally rang through his brain.

“Miss Lovegood, why don’t you share with everyone what your therapeutic activity is,” the Healer instructed.

Draco opened his eyes to find Lovegood smiling. “I’m going to be exploring eastern medicine and meditative yoga with Madam Pomfrey.”

“Each one of you has a different activity that was tailor-made to each of you according to your existing strengths. However, I feel that it would be beneficial to explore each activity with your peers. Meditation and yoga are excellent ways to learn how to control breathing and clear your minds. I’m sure Miss Lovegood would be happy to guide each of you. Just as I’m sure Blaise would love to show each of you precisely how to craft the perfect tiramisu and Theo could properly explain the best lighting for painting a landscape.”

Draco looked to Theo, who had been tasked with painting the portrait of Severus Snape to hang in the Headmaster’s office. He then looked to the others at the table and wondered if Granger or Brown would ever approach him to teach them how to properly handle a broom. He scoffed.  _ Doubtful. _

"Now, the other coping mechanism for dealing with triggers is to repeatedly expose yourself to the trigger. We will discuss this next session when we discuss avoidance. I would urge all of you to implement the breathing techniques you learned today even in your own time. Perhaps twice a day, trigger or none, spend ten minutes breathing. You will find that your stress will begin to wane over time," the Healer said, and she waved her hand as a dismissal. “Until next time.”

Draco groaned inwardly. He knew exactly what his trigger was—or who rather, but he had no desire to expose himself to her repeatedly. He wanted nothing more than to avoid her at every cost.

McGonagall was waiting in the common room to show Brown to her room and the others sprawled out on the couches and chairs, only Justin going into his room to sulk privately. That suited Draco just fine—he was growing weary of Finch-Fletchley's attitude and hated the guilt and shame he felt at how much he truly deserved the negative treatment Justin was sending his way.

o-o-o

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left reviews and is reading this new version. I appreciate the support. Beta love to tectonictigress. Pre-reader love to caprubia and Bailey4047.

Chapter 5:

Blaise was sitting with Lavender by the fire, a plate of finger sandwiches on the floor between them. Luna and Neville were seated at a desk by the far wall, Neville clipping the flowers from some kind of giggly cactus while Luna read an upside-down  _ Quibbler.  _ Hermione sat at the desk facing the window, completely lost in thought as she stared at a bonfire that Seamus had set with Justin not far from where the Forbidden Forest ended and the sprawling valleys of Scotland began. 

Fingers danced over her back and she jumped, not having heard anyone approach. With a gruff laugh, Theo slid into the chair next to her. “Sorry—didn’t mean to scare you. What are you working on?”

In front of her, Hermione had a few books sprawled out. She had been trying to get ahead on the Arithmancy readings but had found her thoughts to be elsewhere. Her eyes flashed briefly to where Malfoy sat alongside the Black Lake and she put her head into her hand and rested on the tabletop. “My mind is all over the place.”

“You’re wondering why they let him back,” Theo told her, seeing his friend’s shape by the lake.

Guilt washed over her and she looked to Theo, who put his hand up. “You don’t have to be embarrassed by your thoughts and feelings. Not with me.”

His voice was low and soothing, and he angled toward her slightly. Hermione fought the urge to look away and instead stared at the former Slytherin directly, noting that she could not recall a single time she had ever done so. His features, all brawn and classically handsome, were soft, and there was a glint in his eye that she felt pull at her insides. He smiled and looked away toward Malfoy once more. “Did it ever occur to you, Granger, exactly what incident he was speaking about when he discussed his trigger? Whose screams he hears every time he tries to sleep?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, careful to keep their conversation from eavesdroppers.

Hermione shrank back at his line of questioning. "He was a Death Eater. That could describe any number of individuals he tortured."

"It wasn't someone  _ he  _ tortured," he replied, placing his hand over her forearm, right over where the bright red MUDBLOOD that still showed brilliantly on the pale skin under her sleeve. “He told me what happened. You may not believe me, but that day is one that haunts him every time he closes his eyes. His inactions weigh on him to the point that he often feels like he’s suffocating,” Theo told her, his fingers tracing one long line from her elbow to her wrist before he crossed his arms and leaned on one against the table. “You have to know, Granger…none of us feel this way about you. We haven’t in a long time, and if it were up to us, this fucking war wouldn’t have ever happened.”

Hermione looked absently at his chest. “If I hadn’t seen his face when his aunt was on me, I probably wouldn’t believe you.”

“Sometimes we did what was expected of us because it was the only thing we knew. That doesn’t make it right,” he commented sorrowfully, looking abashed at the memories, “but we can’t change the past.”

Hermione lifted her shirt sleeve and revealed the derogatory term that would forever shine like a nasty burn in her flesh. “I tried so hard not to let his taunting get to me, to show him that I was more than some slur. But sometimes I wondered if there was some level of truth to the vile things he said.”

Outside of the window, Malfoy drew his knees up to his chest by the edge of the lake and dropped his head into his hands. He sat like that for a long moment before he raised his head and used his wand to toss fish to the Giant Squid. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You are in no way inferior. Malfoy himself would tell you that  _ you  _ were the reason we all started to see past our fathers’ bullshit,” Theo replied after a few moments, carefully selecting his words. 

Hermione scoffed derisively. “Malfoy doesn’t want to speak to me at all.”

“He’s  _ terrified  _ of you,” Theo replied, shaking his head. “He’s a foul-mouthed, temperamental prick, and he has no idea how to deal with you now that the expectations have been lifted.”

“He doesn’t have to deal with me  _ at all _ ,” Hermione pointed out. “We can do our rounds together in silence and I’ll keep out of his way in our common room.”

Theo laughed and stood from his chair. “Why don’t we leave this stuffy room for a while? Get some fresh air.”

Hermione stood as well and gestured out of the window. “I’ve got to go down to Hagrid’s. You’re more than welcome to accompany me.”

They fell in step as they made their way out of the castle. Theo had an air about him that was equal parts confident and apprehensive about being back. He held his head high, but she noticed that he quickly averted his eyes when they passed the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. Trying to sneak a peek at him from her peripheral, she found that he was already looking at her. “Tell me, Granger, what will you do with all your free time, now that you don’t have to babysit Potter and Weasley?”

Hermione nudged him with her elbow. “They aren’t  _ that  _ bad.”

“You nearly died every damn year,” he pointed out, and they passed Malfoy, who was leaning back on the grass.

Narrowing his eyes at the odd coupling, Malfoy’s demeanor grew dark, and he appeared to be silently seething at Theo’s boldness in cordiality. He remained silent, but Hermione could feel his eyes on her back as they strode past. Hagrid’s hut was just visible as they came over the crest of the hill, and beyond it, the barn loomed against the backdrop of the Forbidden Forest. “What is that?” Theo questioned, furrowing his brow as he tilted his head in confusion.

“Horse stables,” she told him, anxiety already welling within her at the thought of the massive beasts housed within. 

“If you tell me there is a hippogriff in there—”

“No. Not hippogriffs. Abraxans. Three of them. I feed them in the morning and evening and I’m supposed to take them out to stretch their wings,” Hermione explained, stopping just outside of the doorway.

“Supposed to?” Theo questioned.

“Well…they haven’t quite warmed up to me just yet,” she told him, sliding the barn door open.

The Abraxans all looked in her direction at the sound of the enclosure being opened, and Artemis, the little grey mare, moved toward her as she reached into her pocket to retrieve the treats she had brought. “Hagrid has them on the strangest diet of single malt whiskey and dark chocolate treats,” she told Theo, handing him a chocolate and dried cranberry cluster.

“She seems to like you just fine,” he commented, holding the cluster in his hand as the horse sniffed the newcomer curiously before taking his offering.

“Until the chocolate runs out,” Hermione commented as Theo gave Artemis a pat and moved around her toward the other two creatures. “Themis is skittish and shy and Hades is…foul.”

Theo put his hand toward Hades, who had not moved from where he lay in a massive pile of hay and straw. Hades jerked away from him with a nip that nearly made contact with Theo’s forearm and looked stubbornly at Hermione. “They need to stretch their wings,” Hermione told him, corralling Artemis out of the barn door before clicking and trying to get Themis to move as well. 

“Get up, you bloody beast,” Theo told Hades through clenched teeth. 

Hades refused to move, instead rolling over in the hay and covering himself lazily. “We need Draco,” he mentioned.

Hermione managed to pull on Themis’ halter enough to get her to join where Artemis was waiting. Looking over her shoulder at where Theo was trying an unsuccessful levitating charm to get him to rise, she furrowed her brow. “Why on earth would Malfoy be helpful in this situation?” 

“His grandfather raised these damn things. Come  _ on _ , before I use my wand like a brand,” Theo said to the onyx horse, kicking hay in frustration. 

The Abraxan stood and Hermione watched as Theo’s eyes grew wide at his size. With an aggravated gusto, Hades moved rapidly past Theo, knocking the wizard so forcefully, he stumbled and landed in the food trough. Hermione turned in just enough time to watch as Hades clipped Themis’ back end before spreading his wings and taking flight.  _ “Fuck,”  _ Hermione let out an uncharacteristic swear under her breath.

Hagrid was going to kill her, she decided right then, as Artemis spread her wings and the ground shook as she got a running start. Theo rushed out behind her, attempting to toss a lasso from the end of his wand around the horse’s neck. Panicked from the pressure, Artemis took flight, dragging Theo along ten meters before he severed the rope. His body did a barrel roll before he stopped. Hermione began to feel growing consternation at the situation as she put a hand on Themis’ back. The mare’s skin flexed under her touch and she began to back away, her eyes growing wide and a loud whiny sounding as she called to her circling herd.

“Please, girl. Stay here. I’ll get the others,” Hermione nearly begged, turning from her to rush to Theo. 

Sitting up with a groan, he rubbed the arm that had been holding the wand. “Damn thing nearly ripped my arm from its socket.”

A crash like thunder, and the third Abraxan was airborne. Hermione fell onto her bum beside Theo, breathing heavily and feeling dejected. “Well.  _ This  _ is why I haven’t attempted to take them out. I can’t control them. And that male…he is the devil incarnate.”

From behind them came the drawling voice that made her skin crawl. “What in the fuck are the two of you  _ doing  _ down here?” Malfoy inquired with a clipped tone, coming to stand next to them as he watched the Abraxans flight patterns rise higher and higher.

Hermione said nothing as she tossed her hands into the air and Theo stood, still rolling his arm. “Can you get them down?”

Malfoy glanced up and placed his hands into his pockets, his jaw set in a way that might have been amusement if it weren’t for the deep scowl on his lips. “Why would you take them out to fly if you couldn’t command them?”

Theo helped Hermione to stand and as she was brushing the grass from her trousers, she sighed. “Hagrid wants me to work with them. Healer Little seems to think that this is therapeutic. But I want to give them all a heavy dose of sleeping draught and release them into the Forbidden Forest. If they haven’t decided to abandon me for good now.”

A glance at the darkening evening sky and she could no longer see them, even with wingspans wider than Hagrid’s hut. “You’re shite at this, you know?” Malfoy questioned, eyeing the drag marks that Theo’s body had left. 

“And your social skills are abysmal,” Hermione told him, crossing her arms. “Can you get them to come back or not?”

Malfoy bounced twice on the balls of his feet and eyed Theo and Hermione. “First off, you can’t use magic against them. An Abraxan’s magic will connect with those they choose to share it with. All you’ve done is pissed them off. That’s fourth-year curriculum, Granger,” he admonished with a roll of his eyes.

Placing the two middle fingers of his right hand between his lips he let out a high-pitched, shrieking whistle. Hermione realized she was holding her breath as she tried to search the skies. Malfoy licked his lips and let out the drawn, haunting noise once more and Hermione heard the sound of massive wings flapping overhead. Hades was first to touch down and the look on his face was entirely too smug as he stood still and allowed the blond to approach him. “If you act like you are frightened or as though you don’t know what you are doing, they can sense it and spook easily. You have no problem being authoritative and bossy any other time, Granger. Train these damn horses before you get yourself, or my idiotic friend, killed.”

With that, Malfoy made the same clicking noise that Hermione had, only louder and more commanding and Hades raised his head proudly to prance into the stables alongside the wizard. The two mares followed suit, though Artemis at least gave Hermione a playful nudge as she passed. She and Theo watched from the doorway as Malfoy looked around the barn and tutted, his hands on his hips. “Feeding them this cheaply fermented shit. Creatures this magnificent deserve nothing less than whiskey aged a half-century in oak casks,” Malfoy was muttering, waving his wand to arrange Hades’ bedding.

With a scratch behind Artemis’ ear, he clicked and was able to coax Themis away from the wall to where he refilled their trough with rolled oats and chocolate chips. Hermione stood with her arms crossed, indignance rising as she watched the creatures respond to the foul prick. Theo sat on the gate of one of the empty stalls, his arms crossed and swinging his legs. “Told you Draco would know just what to do.”

Malfoy looked up and glared in their direction. “You have no business caring for them.”

A challenge began to ignite within Hermione’s chest. His admonishing, harsh tone grated on her nerves and the pompous gait in his step as he ran a hand along Hades’ back was enough to stoke the flame of competitiveness. “I was doing just fine.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and shoved past her, knocking his shoulder against her forcefully. “If I hadn’t heard the two of you making such a commotion, they would be halfway to Surrey by now. But, since you think you know everything, have fun.”

With that, Theo shook his head and rose from the gate. “I hate to agree with him, but you fucked that up. He is the perfect person to assist you in training these bloodthirsty beasts.”

o-o-o

"Reaction number four: avoidance. The natural instinct all human beings are born with is the drive to avoid a negative stimulant. However, this is the worst thing you can do when suffering from PTSD," Healer Little said to the circle of eighth-years sitting in the bright July sun.

"How can you expect us to face triggers if we have a meltdown every time they present themselves?" Justin asked, eyeing Draco's arm wearily.

"I am not asking you to force your triggers into your life at every waking moment. That would be impractical. I am asking you not to avoid what triggers you. For example, Mr. Finnigan, you said the smell of blood is your trigger. A good exercise for you, then, would be to volunteer alongside Madam Pomfrey as she tends to patients. I understand Quidditch is particularly competitive at Hogwarts. She will no doubt repair quite a few wounds throughout the course of the year," the Healer suggested.

"I can grow a potted dirigible plum bush for you, Luna," Neville said helpfully, ignoring his own trigger in favor of helping a fellow student.

Luna smiled at him kindly. "I'd like that, Neville. I think if we started now, they'd be ready to eat by Christmas…"

Healer Little smiled widely. "Excellent, students, helping one another in this journey to self-recovery is going to be important. There are obviously other students in this school who were present for the events that took place in May. But you nine are the adults among them—you all face responsibilities the rest have not even given thought to. Namely, the eight returnees’ apprenticing to the Professors. It will be your first real job in this world, with your payment as the Headmistress' kindness in letting you stay an extra year." She began pacing again. "My point in saying this is that not only do you have adult responsibilities above and beyond your younger peers, but you were also at the forefront of the Battle that took place here. You are the only other individuals that truly understand the stresses and hardships you will face this year."

Draco felt a gentle breeze stir around him and knew that the scent of vanilla would be coming downwind. He held his breath and clenched his eyes as he counted to ten. "Something wrong, Mr. Malfoy?" the elderly witch asked.

He shook his head but did not open his eyes, sneaking a quick breath through his mouth. He did not need Granger's screams to begin mingling with the screams of those he had tortured. "If you are having difficulties, Draco, it would be best if you speak to a sympathetic audience. Get it off your chest," Luna prompted.

"I said there is nothing wrong. A wave of nausea from something I ate," he said through clenched teeth, eyeing them all in a manner that suggested they drop it.

Healer Little nodded, though her lips pursed at his icy tone, and began her pacing around them once more. "Now, hand-in-hand with avoidance comes the desire to develop so-called 'safety behaviors.' These could include sitting with your back to a wall at all times for fear of what or  _ who  _ could come through the area behind you. It could be to grip your wand tight as you walk through the corridors, waiting for someone to come out of the shadows and attack. For some, it could be scanning constantly, searching out potential threats, or perhaps checking the lock on your bedroom door repeatedly before settling in bed."

Draco thought about that carefully. He would set all of his usual wards and locks every night before climbing into bed, then would get out from under the warm covers to go and check that the door had sufficiently locked. He refused to walk with others at his back, had a hand over his wand anytime he walked alone and was constantly surveying his surroundings. He didn't know when this behavior had started, but he suspected it was around the time the Dark Lord had taken up residence in his home.

"It is important to identify your safety behaviors and try to modify them. If you normally walk the corridors of the castle armed, maybe try to take a brief walk without your wand. If you sit with your back to a wall, try to sit with your back to an open door. You will experience discomfort, but you must push past it if you wish to lead a productive and normal life. PTSD may always be with you, but it is a manageable disorder."

The Healer passed around pieces of parchment to each person. The parchment already had writing on it, broken into two sections: ‘My Triggers’ and ‘My Safety Behaviors.’ "Tonight, I would like you all to sit down and fill these slips in. You will not have to hand them in; this is not a test. I merely want you to take a few minutes to look inside of yourselves and try to become acquainted with your triggers and episodes."

She reached into her bag once more and pulled out nine leather bound black books. "These are journals. I would like for all of you to keep a record of your thoughts, feelings and anything else you wish to write about: hopes, aspirations, memories, fears…These are yours to keep—no one else will ever read them. I want you to learn to trust one another with your emotions and minds, but you can treat these journals as your confidant. Pour your heart into your writing. It's a healthy release."

Draco opened the leather book and lifted it to his nose—he loved the smell of a new book almost as much as he loved the smell of an old one. He heard a feminine giggle from the circle across from him and looked over the edge of the journal to find Granger doing the exact same. Theo snorted next to him. "Sweet Salazar, she's the female you."

Draco glared at him and put the journal on his lap with one finger tucked into the side. The smell of the new parchment was making him dizzy, and he silently thanked Merlin the wind wasn't blowing again; he didn't think he could handle the smell of new parchment mixing with Granger's vanilla scent.

"The second part of today's session is focused on reaction number eight: negative self-image. This one is going to be particularly difficult for those of you who weren't on the Light side of the War," she looked pointedly at Draco, Theo, and Blaise.

"You may feel as though every negative thing that happened to you during and after the War is happening because you are a ‘bad person’ and deserve it. Muggles call this karma—what goes around comes back around. Some call it the Rule of Three—what energy you put out into this world, be it good or bad, will come back to you threefold. Those two concepts are not necessarily interchangeable, but you get the idea."

Blaise was slouching forward, pulling out blades of grass where he sat—he had never taken a particular side during the War and he didn't know if that was better or worse. Theo was shifting on his haunches, clearly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. Draco was wearing a mask of indifference once more, his jaw set. The non-Slytherins were eyeing them wearily, save Luna, who was giving Draco a kind smile. The Brown girl ran a hand over her vibrant red facial scar and Draco felt that tug at his heart before he turned away.

Healer Little continued her speech. "It is important to understand that, just because you made bad choices, it does not make you a bad person. Bad things happen to everyone, everywhere. No one, not even pure and innocent people, live life without imprudence. Just because something hard or stressful happens to you does not mean it is a punishment for your past indiscretions."

Draco swallowed hard. He constantly battled with the horrid choices he had made from the day he'd turned sixteen. If he had just defected a year earlier, saved Dumbledore, refused to become a Death Eater… Merlin, he missed Pansy at that moment. For all of her faults—her seemingly shallow persona and snooty disposition—she had been the only one who could calm these thoughts. Theo understood him, but Pansy had soothed him. The thought flashed through his mind that he should travel down to her corridor.  _ I couldn’t handle seeing her again.  _ He ran the palms of his hands over his trousers as he tried to tamp down the images of her bright smile.

"The negative self-image coin has another side as well…those of you who did fight for the winning side of the War can feel it. It will rear its head as a simple, 'If I hadn't been so weak, so slow to act, so naive, I could have saved my friends.' It is important to understand that there was nothing any of you could have done to change the course of the War. What was meant to happen did and now, we as survivors, are tasked with making sure history never repeats itself. Every one of you sitting around this circle acted with bravery—whether that bravery was Light or Dark makes no difference," she paused behind Draco, placing her hand on his shoulder.

He jumped at her touch and quickly admonished himself for being foolish. She looked at each person in turn and spoke slowly. "I want you to break into three groups. Each former Slytherin, come and sit in a row here, about ten feet apart."

The three men did as they were asked, Draco groaning slightly. This wasn't a good sign. "Good. Now, Mr. Finch-Fletchley and Mr. Longbottom, you both go and sit with Mr. Malfoy. Ms. Lovegood and Ms. Granger, why don't you go sit with Mr. Nott. And Mr. Finnigan and Ms. Brown, go and sit with Mr. Zabini."

As everyone moved around and went to where they were designated, she spoke once more. "I want each of you, in turn, to tell your stories to the people in your group. Once you have finished, you will rotate groups to the next Slytherin."

"What is the point of this?" Justin asked, his face contorted into a deep frown.

"Mr. Finch-Fletchley, you have been the most combative against the three men since we started these sessions. You want to see the world as black and white, Dark and Light. But I want these three gentlemen to introduce you to the shades of grey you have never considered. It is imperative to understand that their stories, however different from your own, are important, too. And they should get to know each of you in turn as well—up close and personal instead of across battle lines. You will be living with one another for the next year and it would be beneficial to all of you to get along."

Justin gritted his teeth and said nothing else as he turned back to the blond wizard before him. "And, Draco and Hermione, do take off your long sleeves. It is overwhelmingly hot today and whatever scars you are both so carefully hiding are going to, no doubt, play very important roles in your personal stories."

Granger's mouth dropped open as she stared in horror at her jumper-covered forearm. Draco knew what she was hiding—it had been the subject of his nightmares for close to four months now. She slowly pulled it over her head and he averted his eyes. He unbuttoned his shirt quickly, pulling it off swiftly and exposing a bare chest and arms, his Dark Mark shining bright red against his pale flesh. "I think you could have just rolled your sleeves up, Malfoy," Theo laughed.

Draco tossed his shirt aside, relishing in the slightly cooler air that swept over his sweaty back and rib cage. "No. She wants a show, I'll give her one," he spat, running a hand over his chest where multiple scars showed bright whites, pinks, and purples.

Finch-Fletchley was staring at his chest, his mouth hanging open. Draco shot him a dirty look and put his chin up haughtily. "Not so quick to speak now are you, Finch-Fletchley? What's the matter, hippogriff got your tongue?"

The Hufflepuff opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say and how to react. His eyes flickered over the Dark Mark and he swallowed harshly before returning his eyes to a particularly nasty gash that ran from Draco's left shoulder, over his chest and came to rest under his left rib cage. " What the hell happened to you?" was all he asked.

Malfoy smirked sarcastically, his voice dripping with venom. "I chose to follow the Dark Lord."

Finch-Fletchley grimaced at the euphemism for Voldemort but said nothing. He waved a hand for Draco to continue. Neville was staring at a bunch of circular scars clustered directly over his heart. Draco bent his knees and rested his arms over them, partially hiding his blemishes for now. "Do you want to know my reasoning for taking the Mark? Or perhaps you'd enjoy hearing the particularly savage stories of how I obtained these scars? Or would you like me to beg you both for forgiveness?"

Longbottom shuddered at the tone in his voice and he felt satisfaction at the uneasy feeling they both had as they stared at his Marked and marred body. "Why, first," Longbottom said.

"Because my family's lives were threatened and I believed if I refused, I would be killed as well. Next question," Draco wasn't in a particularly sharing mood.

"Where did you get that one?" Finch-Fletchley pointed to the long gash that broke his torso in two.

"Potter used a Dark curse on me in sixth year. Rather impressive, if I do say so myself," he replied, dropping his head back against the tree trunk.

"There's nothing impressive about Dark Magic," Justin corrected tersely, his mouth screwed into an aggressive scowl.

"Oh, but that is where you are wrong," Draco replied simply, watching as Longbottom shrank away slightly from both he and Finch-Fletchley. "You may not agree with it, but there are many aspects of Dark Magic that are powerful and impressive.” 

Longbottom nodded in grim agreement. "And this?” he whispered, pointing to Draco’s chest, “It's…It's the mark of a Cruciatus Curse. But who Crucio’d you?"

Draco glanced down at his chest and ran a hand absently over the cluster. "My father, the Dark Lord, my aunt Bellatrix…"

"Your father?" Justin parroted, horrified.

Malfoy rolled his eyes in irritation. "I don't know if you've ever tried to understand or notice, but the life of a pureblood son of a Death Eater wasn't exactly easy. Every term I came home with marks lower than Granger's was one more scar. When I failed to catch the snitch and win the House Cup, one more scar. When I argued back against his ideologies as Voldemort sat in my father's study, one more scar."

“You tried to fight back?” Longbottom questioned, twisting the hem of his trouser leg between his fingers to avoid looking at Draco.

He appeared ashamed that he had never considered this possibility, and Draco felt that satisfaction again at exactly how the others were having to face their own preconceived notions and the prejudices they held. Finch-Fletchley was staring at him in abject horror, unable to recompense what he thought he’d known and what he was now learning. "Of course I did. Argued that nothing made sense if I could watch a muggle-born witch create fire in the palm of her hand. Conjuring is difficult for even some of the most capable wizards. And the other scars? Well, let's just say that the Dark Lord was not pleased that I failed to kill Dumbledore, and my aunt was not pleased that I failed to kill anyone else,” he told them.

The night he had failed to kill the Headmaster, he had suffered a particularly vicious round of torture—the Cruciatus the tamest of it all. Barely able to hold himself upright, Pansy had sat alongside his bed and ran circles along his back as he retched pitifully. He blinked away her memory and returned to the present when Neville spoke. 

"So…you've never used the Unforgiveables on anyone?" he asked, eyeing the Cruciatus scars briefly.

Draco snorted condescendingly. "Don't delude yourself, Longbottom. I've used the Cruciatus Curse more times than I can count. But you would, too, if you had that megalomaniac breathing down your neck at every turn, threatening to kill you and your mother. And I used the Imperius when necessary, but never to have the other person kill anyone, merely as a tool to obtain information."

"But you never killed anyone?" Justin clarified, crossing his arms.

"No, you feckless idiot, that's literally what I just said," Malfoy was getting dangerously agitated now. "What about you, Longbottom? Care to share how it is that you recognize a Cruciatus scar?"

Longbottom bristled under his questioning. "My parents…your aunt…You know. You have to know.”

Draco nodded with a frown and looked away, eyeing where Blaise was making Brown laugh lightly. "What about you, though? You killed Nagini—that was no easy task."

Longbottom shrugged, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "I spent seven years listening to everyone make fun of me, call me weak, call me clumsy. But I knew that I needed to avenge my parents. I knew what needed to be done to save my classmates, so I did it. Not much to think about."

"And your parents? Where are they now?" Justin asked curiously.

The timid Gryffindor's face fell, and he pursed his lips. Draco spoke in his place, glaring at the Hufflepuff. “None of your fucking business,” he told him, and Justin narrowed his eyes and said nothing more.

o-o-o

Hermione was sitting with Luna and Theo, listening to the recounting of how Luna had ended up at Malfoy Manor. She knew what had happened once the Golden Trio had arrived, and she ventured to guess that Theo had a good idea from his talks with Malfoy. But they listened just the same. Luna was timid and her normally aloof personality had sobered some—she was wiser and hardened by the world.

For her part, Hermione recounted the fear and desperation that she had experienced while hunting for Horcruxes with Harry and Ron. Luna nodded slowly and admitted that, if she wasn't careful, she could hear Hermione's screams pierce through the still July air. Theo simply listened and added thoughtful comments or asked sincere questions as the two witches spoke.

When it was his turn to speak, Theo sighed heavily. "If you look at Malfoy's chest, you'll see a small cluster of circular scars. If you look at mine, you'll see them peppering my entire body. My mother died when I was born, and my father blamed me. She knew she carried the cursed gene but decided she wanted to tempt fate and try for a child anyway. My father had been reluctant, but he was weak where my mother was concerned. She never even got the chance to hold me—she was dead before I crowned. My father…he didn't take that so well."

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand and placed her other hand on his arm. Luna was eyeing his sparkling blue eyes with wonder. "No…"

Theo nodded and held out his forearms. With a sickened turn of her stomach, Hermione noted small scars littering his skin. "He's been taking it out on me since I was a toddler. I've got hundreds of scars, not much bigger than freckles, really. He never used the curse to its fullest potential—that would have killed me over time. My father didn't want to kill me—only to cause me the same pain he felt. So, it was prolonged episodes of half-arsed torture that still hurt like a motherfucker. He died during the Battle, you know. He was on his way to the Slytherin dungeons…no doubt to find me to fight alongside him like the Death Eater son he'd hoped for."

"He wanted you to be a Death Eater?" Luna questioned, looking to where Malfoy was staring glacially at Justin.

Theo shrugged, flummoxed for a moment before he shook his head to clear it of those thoughts. "He wasn't particularly proud of me and ignored me most of the time. But he hoped I would finally make him proud and take the Mark when I turned seventeen. The last thing I said to him was that he could take his bigoted ideals and shove them up his arse. Of course, he threatened my inheritance—too bad he couldn't get the paperwork finalized before he was killed."

Hermione shivered at his blunt way of recounting such terrible occurrences. She had never spoken to Theo Nott before this summer, but hearing of such atrocities made her wonder about the stories of the others. Could he have told the truth about Malfoy? She peered in the blond’s direction and it occurred to her that, though they had spent years alongside one another, she truly knew nothing of him. Of any of them. The absurd thought crossed her mind that she would live in the same shared space with him for a year, so it would be advantageous to learn him. With a surprised quirk of her eyebrow, she tried to shake that idea from her mind as Healer Little called time. 

She sat up and ambled alongside Luna to Blaise next. After she and Luna recounted their stories, word for word as they had with Theo, Blaise sighed. "My story isn't much to tell, really. My mother is a whore and my seven step-fathers were all pretty well worthless. The only good thing they did for me was refuse to raise me with pureblood ideals. I never bought into the Mudblood shit that Malfoy spewed our first few years here."

"Then why didn't you join our side during the War?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice from wandering into accusatory.

Blaise narrowed his eyes and repositioned himself as though preparing for a verbal sparring. "You can believe me. Or not. But the men on either side of me are the best friends you could ever ask for. That's one thing about Slytherins—we're fiercely loyal, to a fault. These men kept me sane and showed me what family is, regardless of whether we shared the same blood."

"And you couldn't fight against them," Hermione finished, reluctantly picturing herself standing across battle lines from Ron or Harry.

Blaise nodded, his shoulders relaxing some. "I will never go against them for any reason. They're the only family I have ever truly known, and I am forever indebted to them."

Hermione's head was spinning with the knowledge of the loyalty that befell the three Slytherin men. It was not unlike her own group, and she didn't truly understand why she expected it to be any different. Healer Little called time and she groaned internally as she stood to go to where Malfoy sat lazily against an oak tree.

Malfoy had completely stripped his shirt off and she fought the urge to give him a blatant once over. Not that she’d ever had reason to notice before, but he had a Seeker's build—lithe and thin, not too muscular but tight and fit. It was the same build Harry had, but she found it suited Malfoy much better. Hermione brought her lip between her teeth.  _ I’m going barmy, looking at Malfoy like a man and not the disgusting demon he is.  _ She sat across from him, careful not to brush against him, and tucked her scar into herself.

Malfoy's eyes swept over her arm briefly and his jaw clenched. “Control the Abraxans this morning?” he asked in a derisive drawl.

Hermione rolled her eyes and thought back to what Theo had said about the incident in Malfoy Manor. Had her torture really affected him that profoundly? Instead of discussing the Horcrux hunt as she had with Theo and Blaise, she took a different approach with him.  _ Time to expose the hippogriff in the group. _

"I want to thank you for what you did at the Manor over Easter…" Hermione began and his eyes snapped up to meet hers.  Her voice faltered, captivated by the depths of his grey eyes. "I—I know it wasn't easy to lie to Bellatrix and the others…"

Malfoy swallowed harshly, his Adam's apple dipped slightly, and he nodded once. He drew one leg up and draped an arm over his knee, his other hand rubbing his trousers nervously. Hermione decided to press further and untucked her arm. She held it out for him to see and he grimaced and closed his eyes, turning his face as though he were in pain. 

Theo had definitely told the truth then. Hermione felt no satisfaction in that fact. "Malfoy—why did you do it?" she asked him softly. Luna was dead silent, surveying the two’s delicate dance.

He removed his hand from his eyes and gave her an incredulous look. "We may not have gotten along in school, but I didn't want you lot to die. Even I knew that Potter was going to be the key to defeating the Dark Lord. By Easter, I had no desire to live in a world where he reigned. I could barely live in my home after he slithered his fucking way in."

"You were kind to me. You made sure the others didn't torture me," Luna said softly, placing her hand on his knee.

He stared at her hand but made no effort to move away. "I spent seven years of my life living with you all. It was hard enough torturing Muggles…I couldn't stand the thought of someone I knew being tortured," his eyes flashed to Hermione briefly before they settled over her shoulder.

"But you were tortured. I could hear you screaming," Luna pointed out, her tone gentle.

Malfoy looked toward Luna and the witch gave his knee a sympathetic squeeze. "They wanted me to hurt you, to try and torture information out of you. I couldn’t—even if you knew where Potter was, I wasn’t about to let them find him. After you all left the Manor, I was repeatedly subjected to the Cruciatus, among other unpleasantries. The Dark Lord believed that I knew where you all were headed, and it took repeated rounds of Occlumency for him to realize I was telling the truth."

Hermione tried not to picture the sight of Malfoy huddled by the shattered chandelier, shards of glass and crystal poking like porcupine barbs from his cheeks. She closed her eyes and swallowed before asking, "Are they all from him?" 

Malfoy frowned and fingered the long purple gash. "That one was from Potter's Sectumsempra," Hermione shuddered at that. "Some," he pointed to a small cluster just outside the larger cluster, "are because I could never beat you in marks, no matter how many nights I stayed up and read books on Herbology and mixed extra potions."

Hermione bristled at the sight of the scars he'd earned because of her. If she had known, would she have done anything differently? It had not been her fault that he had been subjected to such brutality, but the knowledge that she could have changed it, had she only known, sickened her. "Some are results of bad choices," Malfoy showed them the angry seared Dark Mark, "and some are remnants of my attempt to rid myself of my past indiscretions," he pointed to a few long slices along his arm where it looked as though he'd cut himself repeatedly.

Hermione closed her eyes now and looked away. She couldn't imagine being desperate enough to turn to self-mutilation, and the imagery of Draco Malfoy dragging a dagger over his arm had acidic bile rising in her throat. "It was foolish, really. I couldn't get rid of it, no matter how hard I tried…at least the black faded out…" he muttered, running a hand over it.

"It doesn't define you anymore," Luna told him. "You helped us in the Manor. Do you think Dolohov or one of the Carrows would have done that?"

Malfoy snorted. "Doubtful."

"But  _ you _ did. You're good at heart, whether or not you believe it," she finished.

Hermione wasn't so sure of her friend's sentiments, and she could tell he felt the same. Her heart was heavy as she considered the man before her. He may have exhibited a brief moment of bravery, but she thought he was still a far cry from a good man. He had never had one kind thing to say to her—or anyone else—for that matter. He may have thought he had no choice but to join the Death Eater ranks, but that didn't change the fact that he chose the Dark path. She would rather die than side with a bigoted tyrant like Voldemort and, through her haze of alternating numb detachment and guilt, she was angry with the man before her.

Healer Little cleared her throat and smiled kindly. "Okay, everyone, I hope that these talks have given you all a better insight into the other side of the War. Not everyone who fought against you did so out of hatred—some were out of fear, some never fought at all and some fought only when provoked first. And I hope you three have gained some insight into why people are wary of you initially,” she added, looking directly at the Slytherins. “But if you open up, you can cultivate some strong friendships with people who share the same experiences. Now, you are all dismissed. We will reconvene next week and discuss how to combat negative emotions. Please, write in your journals at least once between now and then." 

Hermione rose, her heart full and heavy at the prospect of returning to the Burrow. Malfoy pulled his shirt over his shoulders. “Run along to your little rodent hole,” he told her as he tucked his shirt into his trousers with a graceful swish of his wand. 

“Must you  _ always  _ be such an unpleasant prick?” she questioned, retrieving her new journal.

“Part of the Malfoy charm, love,” he shrugged, the cold look on his face a definite dismissal.

o-o-o

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to Tectonictigress for her beta skills! As usual, thanks to Caprubia and Bailey 4047 for prereading. And to everyone who has been reading and those who have also reviewed.
> 
>  
> 
> One of the things I am exploring in this version is making Hermione more relatable in the wake of War. Her decisions aren’t always good ones in this version--in fact, she makes a lot of errors in judgment between now and the end. She’s confused and her internal workings are being all shook up. She’s still fundamentally Hermione, but “Hermione” is not synonymous with “perfect” in this story.

 

Chapter 6:

 _Empty._ Certainly not the emotion Hermione had always dreamt of when she had imagined losing her virginity. But it was precisely how she felt as she lay in her bed at the Burrow, tears tracing paths toward her pillow. Empty and heartbroken. If the stories that had circulated around the Gryffindor dorms were to be believed, then Ron had done nothing wrong and had tried his best to treat her right. Still, there was a hollow place in her heart, a small aperture that had only grown wider with their union.

 _I am not in with love him._ The epiphany had washed over her as she stood in the bathroom after their copulation, staring in the mirror at her tear-stained cheeks. All of the years she had pined after her best friend and it took a war to realize that her feelings were misguided. The aftermath of the War left her feeling like her entire being had been fractured into pieces, only to be scattered in the wind. Her childhood rested within the classrooms of Hogwarts, her heart lay in the Forest of Dean, her soul forever entombed in the Great Hall.

Confused by her reaction, Ron had made himself scarce at her behest. Ginny worried over her in his place, holding her close and running a comforting hand over her mop of curls. _“Sometimes what you think you want isn’t what you need,”_ Ginny had told her. _“You’ve just survived a war, and everything is muddled right now.”_

A small voice at the back of her head whispered that she was putting too much importance on something so trivial. Virginity was nothing more than a social construct placed on women in order to control their actions and suppress their sexualities. But another voice, one that sounded dangerously like her mother’s, told her to wait until she was certain she loved her partner. Though platonic, Hermione _did_ love Ron. For all of his faults, he was loyal and kind, loving and generous.

Before the War, her heart had longed to be entwined with his. But in the weeks that followed, as she fought to rebuild her life and to discover where her station in the wizarding world would be, her chest ached with the weight of her decisions. Hermione knew it was selfish to give up on their relationship so hastily, a feeling that gnawed at her the longer she remained in his childhood home, surrounded by his family.

 

Without a clear explanation and unable to face Ron just yet, Hermione rose in the early hours of the morning. It felt as though she were drowning under the severity of the shift in their friendship. The sounds and scents of the Burrow were settling like lead in her belly and she could no longer handle the suffocating environment any longer. She dressed in silence as Ginny softly snored. On a spare piece of parchment, she scribbled _“Gin, I need some time to clear my head. I love you all. Please tell Ron that I’m sorry. -H”_ and took a steadying breath as she glanced around the room.

 

Leaving behind the woman she had been—a third of the Golden Trio, one half of “Ron and Hermione,” Ron’s first love—he crept to the Floo. Her identity—just one more piece of her former self, left tattered and discarded.

 

o-o-o

Hermione was surprised to find the common room full when she stepped out of the Floo. Tucking her face, she wiped the tears before anyone else could take note. Justin was absent from the group, but those who remained wore joggers and short sleeves. Save Malfoy, who dressed in his usual black trousers and jumper. She suspected he wanted to be contrary on purpose. “What’s going on?” Hermione queried, looking around at everyone as they yawned and stretched.

“Lovegood asked us to join her for sunrise yoga,” Blaise mentioned, waving his wand to tie the trainers on his feet.

“This is nothing but some hocus pocus Muggle shite,” Malfoy muttered under his breath, crossing his arms petulantly.

“You’re going to go and fold your legs over your head and you are going to like it,” Theo told him icily. “Getting the others in our group to trust you is step one on the path to redemption, you prick, and that is the end goal. So, perk the fuck up.”

Malfoy stared at Theo, working his jaw, and Hermione raised an eyebrow in their direction. Never before had she heard someone speak to Malfoy so bluntly, and it surprised her when he acquiesced without much arguing.

Luna was passing around paper cups filled with tea, one that tasted oddly floral but not unpleasant. “Let us make our way down before the sun rises without us,” she commanded lightly.

Hermione looked longingly at the door to the Head Commons, wishing that she could take a Sleeping Draught and clear her mind of the way her best friend had felt inside of her.

 

 _Unification._ Gritting her teeth, Hermione followed the others out, walking at a safe distance from Lavender. The witch’s presence was an unwelcome reminder of her indiscretions with Ron the day prior.

Falling into step beside Hermione as they strode over the serenely quiet grounds, Luna nudged her lightly. “Did something happen with Ron? You’re back early and looking as though you may vomit.”

Though her voice was little more than a whisper, the way Malfoy peered over his shoulder made her paranoid that he had heard Luna’s question. Hermione looked down at the ground and shook her head. “Things are just…different now.”

“And not in a good way,” Luna deduced, a frown gracing her features.

“Not in an _expected_ way,” Hermione corrected as they entered the stone stairwell that led to the boat docks underneath the castle.

Taking handfuls of her flowing skirt and spreading it distractedly, Luna cleared her throat. “I know we were never the closest of friends—”

Guilt mixed with the unease Hermione already felt. “I’m sorry, Luna. I really am. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

“It’s okay, Hermione,” she assured, as they navigated through the tunnel along a narrow path. “I just wanted to say that I know how hard it will be for you to be back without Harry and Ron. If you need someone to talk to…”

Humbled, Hermione clasped Luna’s hand and gave it a grateful squeeze just as they exited the tunnel and stepped out through the ivy that shrouded it from view. Before them spread a wide ravine, a river rushing through the valleys. Between two tall crests in the earth, the sky on the horizon was turning a pale pink and gold. Standing on the wood slats of a dock, no one spoke as they took in the sight. Angled in front of where Hermione stood, Malfoy pushed his hands into his pockets and she watched his profile as he closed his eyes to enjoy the light breeze that ruffled his hair. How queer, to be enjoying a sunrise alongside Draco Malfoy.

It was Lavender who broke the silence when she unraveled her mat. “So, show me why I am up before the sun.”

o-o-o

Draco transfigured a towel into a mat and spread it out before him, feeling distinctly cantankerous at having to be up before dawn to _bend and stretch_. Beside him, Theo was whistling as he removed his shoes and Draco had to fight the urge to hex the bastard.

 

 _Redemption._ His desire for redemption had him seething and staring at the back of Granger’s head in the dim morning light.

“I’d like to begin by breathing for two minutes,” Lovegood told them in gentle tones, taking her place on her own vibrantly colored mat.

She crossed her legs and tucked her feet so that the soles were pointing up and placed her hands on her knees, her back rod straight. Theo positioned, though with difficulty, as close to her pose as he could get and snapped his fingers in Draco’s direction. “Do it,” he commanded, waving his hand toward Draco’s legs.

Rolling his eyes, Draco tucked his legs just as Lovegood had and straightened his shoulders. _Mother would be so proud of my correct posture_. Lovegood was speaking in hushed tones about how he should be pulling air in through the nose and out through the mouth. A deep inhalation brought with it the faint scent of vanilla and he felt his stomach flop uncomfortably. Battling with his own mind, he struggled to raise the walls necessary to block the image of Granger writhing on the floor. Her scream rang through his brain so clearly, he had to open his eyes and glance at her to ensure that she had not, in fact, screamed aloud.

Granger was sitting a meter from him, and he watched as she rolled her neck and breathed evenly. Wavering in her place, she appeared to be battling her own demons as she swiped quickly at her face. Silently, Draco wondered what the Weasel could have possibly done to make her so fucking _weepy_.

 

Draco scoffed. _Probably just his mere existence_.

Lovegood’s voice broke his thoughts as she suggested, “From here, why don’t we put our feet together and draw them inward, as so?”

Blaise went into the pose with bored ease while Theo rolled around on his buttocks as he attempted to pull his feet closer to his body. Lovegood circled around, assisting those in need before she stopped in front of him. “Draco,” she cajoled softly, “why don’t you go ahead and bend over your feet? Don’t force it, but treat it more as a gentle folding over.”

Her hands were gentle on his back as she guided him into the position. “You’re rather tense. I can offer my services, should you ever decide you need a massage to work out these knots.”

Draco looked to the side and saw Granger raise an incredulous eyebrow at Lovegood’s forwardness. “I—I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Draco mentioned, his face aflame with embarrassment. “Longbottom would have my arse on a silver platter.”

Longbottom, for his part, remained silent, though the tips of his ears were scarlet. Luna tutted and continued her path. “Nonsense, Draco. Neville and I are in a sexually exclusive relationship. I’m offering to assist with your health and wellbeing. Ah, excellent, Hermione,” she exclaimed clapping her hands together once as she moved to the witch. “You’re really opening your pelvic muscles and hips!”

Glancing in Granger’s direction, Draco felt his face burn even hotter as he watched Lovegood press Granger’s knees closer to the ground below. “This is really a basic pose, but you go into it with such ease—have you done yoga before?” Lovegood questioned as Granger bent forth over her legs and breathed.

“I did ballet for years,” Granger told her, shifting to place one foot over her other leg and turn her torso in the opposite direction, effectively stretching out her back, hips, and thighs.

With a pleased smile, Lovegood moved away as she proclaimed, “It has done you a world of good! Look at how limber and flexible you are!”

Granger’s eyes met Draco’s and he quickly averted his attention away from where she was bending and stretching. His cock twitched in his trousers and he leaned forward to escape her gaze. A peek to his right revealed Blaise staring at him, a sly smirk draped across his face. Draco tossed a rude hand gesture in the Italian’s direction and received a blown kiss in response. He willed his mind to clear of its haze as he laid on his back at Lovegood’s command.

Leaning her entire body weight into where Theo’s leg was folded toward his chest, Lovegood was eliciting strange noises from the burly wizard, ones Draco could not discern were from pain or pleasure. Longbottom was watching them with a pout on his chubby face and everyone else had broken into fits of laughter. Draco rolled his eyes at his friend’s idiocy. “You fool.”

Theo grunted as Luna stood upright and smoothed her skirt. “Theo, explain to me how you manage to move on a daily basis.”

With a loud groan, he straightened his body and dropped his head back against the wood slats of the dock. “I’m not sure that I will ever move again.”

“I thought this was meant to be relaxing?” Finnigan questioned, lying flat on his back with his limbs sprawled out around him.

Brown gasped and pointed to the break in the valley where the sun had just crested over the horizon. Everyone sat upright and watched with a renewed calm as the sun rose, no one daring to speak. For the first time in a while, Draco felt a serenity envelop him. The suffering he had caused, the tribulations of the individuals around him, the persistent ache in his chest—it all seemed to fade.

In that brief moment, surrounded by his one-time enemies and long-time friends, Draco found that he could finally breathe.

o-o-o

Justin Finch-Fletchley was the first student to leave the school because of Draco Malfoy’s presence. Headmistress McGonagall announced at the start of their group therapy that he had instead opted to attend Beauxbatons. Justin’s doubt and departure subsequently cast an unease over the rest of the group, despite how wonderfully their morning with Luna had gone.

 

This session had been the heaviest yet—a stark contrast to the mostly lighthearted morning they had spent together. The Healer’s voice swam through Hermione's head as she sat in bed that evening, exhausting her.

 

_Toward the end of the session, Healer Little mentioned, "It is also important for you all to understand that you are safe here at the school.” Everyone in the group looked to Malfoy, though he kept his eyes straight, his stare unwavering. “This may have been the site of unspeakable actions—but Voldemort has been defeated, and his followers are either hiding or in Azkaban.” She came to stand behind Malfoy and rested her hand on his shoulder, appealing to the others as she spoke. “You are safe. You can breathe easily and live a normal life, begin to stitch together your lives and work through your grief." Hermione noted that Malfoy did appear to be listening, even if he put on a façade of disinterest._

_Healer Little pulled a long piece of parchment out of the pocket of her robe and placed it in the center of their circle. "On this list, you will find the names of fifty-one people who perished here on the day of the Final Battle. I want each of you to select seven names, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy will select eight, and write letters to each one in turn. Not all of them were from the Light. You will find Dark wizards in here as well. You may want to find out more information about each person—you can read a brief biography of them each in here," she set down a large book—the new History of Magic textbook. "Read about their lives and contemplate them each in turn and then pen a letter. You can apologize to them, defend yourselves to them, whatever you need to do to release the guilt, shame and grief."_

_"And what are we going to do with these letters?" Blaise asked skeptically, eyeing the large tome._

_"That is the second part of your project. You are to design and erect a monument to the fallen somewhere here on the grounds. Inside should be a capsule containing all of your letters. They will remain there for the rest of the monument's existence—eternal raw emotion and apologies. No one else in the school needs to know what the monument contains—this is about the seven of you."_

_Pulling the list toward herself, Hermione found Fred Weasley, Tonks and Lupin right off. No need to read the textbook for them—they had all been her friends. She randomly selected five more students before passing the list to the next person. Her heart was heavy as she tried to formulate what she would say to each one in her letters._

_Theo swore under his breath as he saw his father's name and checked him off the list. He looked at his blond counterpart and pointed at the parchment. "You want Pansy, mate?"_

_Hermione watched as Malfoy's stony façade faltered briefly, his face screwing up in pain for a moment before a frown settled over his features. He gave a short nod and looked away from the others, clearing his throat. Hermione almost felt a pang of sympathy for the wizard. She couldn't imagine the devastation Malfoy must have every time he recalled a memory of his friend. Perhaps he wasn't as hardened and unfeeling as he came off._

Before she could bring herself to pen letters to her deceased friends, she forced herself to instead write a missive to punctuate a relationship that had died before it ever really began. The dread and anguish that filled her were akin to that she had struggled with when she’d delivered eulogies at the funerals of friends and family.

 

A mournful regret coiled in her belly, unpleasant and sickening as the quill trembled in her hand and tears dotted the parchment. What does one say to the man who gave his whole heart, only to have it destroyed and mangled by the one he loved? Never in her life had Hermione felt so selfish. _What would be worse? To leave now and spare us both a life of false confessions? Or live a life of lies, simply to spare his feelings?_ Knowing that she was making the right decision for them both did little to assuage the wretchedness that filled her.

 

Just after modifying her parents’ memories, letting Ron down was the hardest thing she had ever done. His disappointment in her was sure to break her heart further, and she rued the day she would have to face him. _You bloody coward. Destroyed a dark wizard but can’t break a man’s heart._

 

If she told the truth, matters of the heart frightened Hermione far more than fighting in the War had. In the War, she had been able to use reason and logic to gain an advantage. Her intellect had assisted her in her time of need, had allowed her to aid Harry in his. But logic played no part in love. Her brain could not reason her heart into loving Ron.

 

o-o-o

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! And don’t be afraid to find me and reach out via PMs or on tumblr--themourningmadam!
> 
> Beta love to tectonictigress!

Chapter 7:

The witch had been hogging the bathroom for entirely too long. Draco fancied a bath and was growing impatient. He wrapped a towel around his bare waist, not really caring if she would be uncomfortable with his scantily clad body. A quick flick of the doorknob and the door readily opened. He entered the bathroom and was overwhelmed by the scent— _ her  _ scent. He willed himself to remain upright and breathed evenly to drown out her tortured screams as they rang shrilly in his head. "I'm coming in, Granger."

With a shriek, Granger whipped her head from behind the shower curtain and glowered at him. "You couldn't possibly wait until I finished?"

Draco rolled his eyes and crossed to the sink.  _ Look how limber and flexible you are!  _ Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned away from the shower, lest his traitorous body react to being in such close proximity.  _ I really need to find a witch _ . "You've been in here for an hour, witch. Not that I blame you—it must be awfully difficult to tame that owl's nest you call hair." 

That's when he saw it. The tube of toothpaste, indentations pressed into the middle. Anger and irritation roared within him. "Are you touching my things, Granger?"

The water cut off and her arm reached out to retrieve her towel from the towel bar. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

He swung around to face her. "My toothpaste! You've been using it!"

He could hear her sigh behind the shower curtain, the sound of the towel rubbing over her bare flesh as she dried off. "I forgot to repack mine. I didn't think you would mind—I'll get more this weekend."

Fuming, he took a step toward the shower stall, the toothpaste in his hand. "Well you were wrong—I do mind! These are my things, Granger.  _ Mine _ ! We may have to share a bathroom and a common room, but I will not share my things with you! And what kind of uncultured, uncivilized heathen squeezes the tube from the middle?" 

Granger pulled the curtain back to peer out, still covering her body and her hair wrapped up tightly in a towel-turban. Her cheeks were puffy and raw—she had been crying again. "Who cares? Honestly. It was one time. I won't touch your things again."

Draco knew his irritation was irrational, but Merlin help him, he could not control his temper. The calm he had felt that morning had been tainted by the swelteringly heavy topics they had discussed in the group. His mood had not recovered in the hours that followed, and Granger was an easy target on which to unleash his pent-up wrath. "Aren't your parents tooth-tenders? Surely, they should have taught you how to properly obtain toothpaste from the tube," he muttered, still agitated and staring at her face.

He watched her features fall and her eyes darted to stare over his shoulder.  _ Curious.  _ "Dentists. They were dentists. Now can you turn around, so I can go to my room?"

"Worried I might spot your boyish figure?" he asked, unnecessarily cruel as he turned around anyway.

He heard her feet pad softly along the tiled floor to her room, and Draco could not help the way his eyes traced her path in the mirror. She had a decidedly  _ un-boyish  _ figure, but he refused to dwell on that fact for too long. Dropping the towel from his waist, he climbed into an ice-cold shower. Something in the way Granger had spoken of her parents nagged at him as he lathered the hair potion onto his head.  _ They  _ **_were_ ** _ dentists. _

 

o-o-o

The eighth-years were all crowded around Theo at the large table in the common room where he was sketching their ideas for the monument, erasing when necessary and adding when someone made a suggestion. Silently impressed by the former-Slytherin’s hidden talent, she listened as Malfoy told the group of his interest in transmutating lead into gold. Hermione was skeptical of alchemy but tried to keep an open mind as he spoke with a fascinating interest and a lilt in his voice that she had not heard in years.

Their design for the monument was simple: a tall statue of Dumbledore in the center, his elder wand raised to the sky—which they would charm to illuminate at all hours as a beacon of hope. A badger, coiled serpent, an eagle with her wings stretched wide, a lion with one paw raised, and a phoenix—to represent their new House—were to rest at his feet. The statue would stand on a glass base, their letters to the fallen rolled and stacked inside it. Only they would know what the rolls of parchment said, but they agreed it would be best if they were visible as reminders of their unspoken words. The glass layer would sit on a thick oak base, each of the fallen names etched into it intricately.

There was some debate as to where to put the fallen Death Eaters names, if at all. Theo was staunchly against having their names appear anywhere on a monument to the fallen, but Hermione disagreed. "Theo, one of the first things we were told is that we need to learn how to forgive. We can't harbor all of the hatred, and they died just the same."

"They were evil, Granger," Theo reasoned, running a hand over where she knew there were scars from his father’s past brutalities.

Thinking back to the day they had discussed his desolate and violent childhood, Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder where he sat before her. Malfoy’s eyes watched her make contact, homing in on her fingers as she gave Theo a gentle squeeze. 

"So were you and Draco," she argued lightly, reminding him of the incorrect prejudices held against them. 

"We can put their names—there's only six—on the back and write something meaningful as a caption, not honoring them fully but not condemning them to hatred either," Luna reasoned.

"I'm sure I can think of a good caption for them," Blaise said thoughtfully, knowing it would mean something to Theo even if he didn't quite realize it yet.

"You sure you can turn lead into gold?" Hermione asked Malfoy, her tone clearly letting on that she didn't believe it possible.

Malfoy looked at her with a bored indignance, his grey eyes narrowing and irritation evident in his scowl. "You have no faith in me, Granger. I am not one of those daft idiots you call friends. I think if you would rid yourself of your  _ prejudices _ , you'd find me quite competent."

Pursing her lips, Hermione stood back. Malfoy was certainly as arrogant as ever, even if  _ his  _ prejudices failed to pass through his lips any longer. She sighed. "It's going to take a significant amount of lead, though. Where are we getting materials? We were never really given a budget, and this is sure to cost thousands of galleons."

Malfoy waved his hand, still clearly agitated. "I have more than enough money to pay for it. I'll send off to my contact here in Scotland. The lead, glass and oak should arrive within two days."

At his offering, Hermione felt a surge of something in her heart, something she didn't understand. Was it… _ appreciation _ ? She shook her head to herself and stifled down the unwanted feelings. He may not have been evil incarnate, but he was certainly nothing to be appreciated either. His foul temperament made damn sure of that.

"It's going to be beautiful," Seamus remarked, fingering the drawing. "Have you all started your letters?"

"I'm sure Granger's finished hers," Theo teased, reaching up to touch the hand she still rested on his shoulder.

Hermione grimaced at his apparent compliment—in truth she had only finished half. Finding it hard to put into words everything she felt in her heart, she watched as Malfoy shook his head a fraction. "Not yet."

She wondered if that meant he didn't believe she had finished or if he hadn't started. Her mind wandered to the way he had looked when Theo offered Pansy’s name—broken. No.  _ Shattered.  _ How absurd that Draco Malfoy should mourn the loss of his love while she mourned the acquisition of hers. In that moment, she knew they mirrored one another. The shattered, damaged fragments of who they had been before poked and sliced into the individuals they were now. The realization unsettled her, and a shiver ran down her spine, a subtlety that did not escape Malfoy’s shrewd perception.

"I can finish this by the thirty-first of August if everyone can finish the letters by that point," Theo commented, replacing his graphite pencils into a leather sleeve.

That left two weeks for them to finish writing what needed to be said. "Today's our last actual session, and then we're going to be left alone to work on this. Once I’ve obtained the necessary materials, I need everyone to bring a cauldron and meet me out here each night for six nights. We've got to work by moonlight to transfigure the metals. Once we’ve transmutated enough gold, it will be simple to erect the statue," Malfoy instructed, and everyone murmured their agreement.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief—a valid excuse not to return to the Burrow. Swallowing her guilt, she worried her bottom lip and took a deep breath. "Problem, Granger?" the blond wizard's harsh drawl pulled her from her thoughts.

"It's…nothing…I'll be here," she assured him, mentally trying to formulate the words she would need to harness to write to Ron when she returned to her room.

o-o-o

Two days later, Hermione unwrapped her brand new cauldron. Igniting the remnants of Ron’s response letter—one in which he made very clear how hurt he was by her selfish actions—she made her way down to where Malfoy had instructed everyone to meet him. She sauntered through the building and down onto the grounds, relishing the warm air that tickled her bare shoulders. 

Malfoy had transfigured a long table, and everyone was standing in separate workstations along its length as he explained alchemy's most basic themes to them. "Chrysopoeia is the transmutation of a basic metal—in this case, lead—to a precious metal—gold. Now, Muggles tried for centuries to accomplish this feat, something they call chemistry. Well, I don't know anything about machines that can bring about particle acceleration, but magic can certainly get us there. It is going to take an astronomical amount of concentration and energy, so I hope you all ate a decent meal at dinner."

Marveling at Malfoy’s even tone, Hermione wondered when he had become a formidable teacher. As she took her place at the end of the table, he rolled his eyes at her late arrival. "Welcome, Granger. Good of you to grace us with your presence,” he mentioned, his tone clipped and laden with irritation. “As I was saying, I've ordered more than enough lead, but the lead to gold ratio is about one-fifth of the original size and weight. So, it's going to take us approximately three hours a night for six nights to finish. Once the full moon hits on Tuesday, the transmutation will be complete. For now, the gold will appear an ugly bronze color. That's normal."

Handing everyone charmed masks that closely resembled beekeepers' bonnets, he was careful to emphasize, "It's incredibly dangerous to breathe in lead."

Hermione put her mask on and looked around at everyone else. Though Luna looked like her normal self—eccentric, like the mask was made to suit her tastes—everyone else looked ridiculous and laughed at the sight of their Housemates.

Malfoy was before them all, his cauldron already bubbling a bright white. Hermione admired the ancient runes he had engraved along the edges—protective spells, she recognized. He dropped a lead bar into the white liquid and the cauldron began to bubble. He retrieved his wand and placed it on the rim of the cauldron. "Now. The spell is  _ Aurum Adus _ . You must say it and then run the tip of your wand along the rim of your cauldron, as so…"

Hermione watched as he ran his wand along the edge of the cauldron, taking note of the graceful flick of his wrist. He whispered the incantation three more times, followed each time by three clockwise runs of the wand. "Then, after the fourth round, run your wand anticlockwise three times and say it backward.  _ Suda Murua _ ."

Watching in silent awe and wonder, the group was mesmerized as he used a pair of protected steel tongs to remove a glob of bronze material out of the cauldron. It was, in fact, one-fifth of the size of the bar that had gone in to begin with.

"Tonight, we need to boil the solution that you will drop it into—a mixture of warm salt water, mugwort and the venom of a golden lancehead snake." Malfoy handed each of them a mason jar of warm salt water and two small vials containing each of the other ingredients. "Do not expose any open wounds to the venom—you will regret it. Wear your dragon hide gloves," Malfoy warned as he stepped back. "Pour the water into the cauldron first, one-third full. Then add two drops of venom and a teaspoon of mugwort. Stir clockwise thrice and anticlockwise two times. Repeat twice more until it is all in the cauldron. Then wait three minutes and seven seconds to get an open flame underneath. The mixture must be kept at precisely one hundred and four degrees."

Listening intently, it appeared that everyone seemed to grasp the basic concept. They worked in concentrated silence until a shrill scream pierced the calm night air. Seamus writhed on the ground, foam rising from his mouth, and they rushed to his sides. His hand was turning a ghastly shade of puce, and Hermione stared in horror, cupping her hand over his. "Back off, Granger," Malfoy warned as he stepped forward and knelt next to Seamus. "Back off, I said."

Reluctantly backing away, she watched as Malfoy pulled a vial from his messenger bag on the table and brought it to Seamus' swelling hand. "Dammit, Finnigan, I told you to wear gloves."

"He was!" Neville tried to interject. "There must have been a hole."

"Well, the venom seeped into a cut on his hand," Malfoy spat, running water from the tip of his wand to soothe the burning sensation. "Granger, go get Madam Pomfrey!"

Hermione watched as he pulled a vial of silvery liquid from his pocket. "Unicorn blood? That will curse him!" she shrieked, panic rising in her throat as she tried to pry the vial from Malfoy’s hand.

He was far stronger, and he pushed her away with enough force that she fell back on her haunches. "Granger, I don't have time to argue with you. He's going to die if he doesn't drink it. We need Pomfrey.  _ Now! _ "

Malfoy had his gloved hand clasping Seamus' harshly, trying to reduce the swelling as he glared up at the conflicted witch. Deciding that a cursed life would be better than no life, she rushed to retrieve the Healer. Her feet carried her instinctively, as her mind was racing with the possibility of Seamus’ death clouding out every other thought.  _ Not another funeral. Please. Just let him live.  _ Visions of Seamus lying in a casket, draped with the flag of the Irish National Quidditch Team, crowded her mind. Desperate to keep these visions from becoming a reality, she skidded to halt in front of Madam Pomfrey’s living quarters.

Three slams of her fist.  _ “Madam Pomfrey! There’s been an accident!” _

The aging witch flung the door open, dressed in a night robe and hair curlers. “What is it, Miss Granger?” she inquired, already pushing past Hermione and sprinting toward the Hospital Wing.

“By the Black Lake! Seamus Finnigan…” Hermione’s voice caught as a lump rose in her throat.

Turning her head a fraction, Madam Pomfrey waved her arm for Hermione to follow. “He what, dear? I need to know!”

“The venom of a golden lancehead. It must have seeped into a crack in his gloves,” she replied, clasping her hands as she watched Madam Pomfrey chant the spell to lower the wards to the Hospital Wing. 

“Golden lancehead? Why on  _ earth? How  _ on earth?” the Healer seemed unable to properly articulate the questions as she whizzed around and collected the necessary supplies. 

Fighting the urge to launch into a long explanation of precisely  _ why  _ and  _ how  _ they had come across the ingredients and instruments necessary to be fiddling with a level of alchemy above and beyond what was taught at Hogwarts, she followed Madam Pomfrey in a panicked silence.

When they came upon the group, Seamus was unconscious and lying limply across Malfoy's arm. Everyone else was circling them, worry etched into their faces. Hermione pushed past Theo and knelt beside Malfoy, who had the uncorked vial placed against Seamus' lips. He massaged his slack jaw and throat, coaxing the unicorn blood down his throat. 

_ “Unicorn blood?”  _ Madam Pomfrey squealed, shooing the group away from where Malfoy held Seamus’ limp form. “What is going on here?”

She peered around at the materials and bubbling cauldrons that lined the workbench, their contents ruined. “Mister Malfoy, I will certainly be owling Professor Newton about this! Fiddling with alchemy!”

Fuming, Malfoy turned back to Seamus’ face. Hermione could see the tense set of his jaw and by the light of the moon, watched as his pale features began to pinken. When Seamus’ swelling began to recede, and color began to return to his face, there was a collective exhaling of relieved breaths. Madam Pomfrey levitated him onto a stretcher, all the while chiding Malfoy for encouraging the use of such dangerous substances.  _ “You know better than this! Students with no experience in alchemy have no business playing with lancehead venom!”  _

Theo moved to retort her tirade, but Malfoy threw a hand up and shook his head, warning him to stay silent. Hermione began openly crying, the panic having been too much emotion for her. Madam Pomfrey fitted Seamus into a prone position and held his hand above him, helping the fluid to drain out of it, moving quickly to get him inside. “Everyone to bed!  _ Now!” _

Watching her retreat into the castle, unconscious Seamus floating next to her, the rest of the group was somber. Malfoy waved his wand to vanish the contents of every cauldron, angrily tossing the cauldrons at their respective owners with a few flicks of his wrist. "That is why you have to pay careful attention to every last detail I tell you! He could have died! I'll do this all on my own," he spat bitterly, his hands balled into fists on either side of him.

"Draco, don't be ridiculous. You'll never transmutate that much lead into gold alone," Blaise tried to reason, slowly approaching his friend as one might approach a mountain lion.

"I can either lie in my bed wide awake or I can work out here all night. Either way, I'm done with you lot," Malfoy leaned over to his cauldron, his back turned to everyone else.

Hermione could feel the anger and dying panic rolling off from Malfoy in droves. His body was shaking slightly and his hand quivered as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The group collected their items in silence. “Are you coming, Hermione?” Neville questioned, eyeing the wrathful wizard. 

Shaking her head, she gave him a small wave. “I’ll be right up.”

Neville hesitated but took his leave, glancing over his shoulder at her once. "What the fuck do you want, Granger?” Malfoy’s voice was gruff and his tone cruel. “I said I don't want your fucking help." 

Hermione crossed her arms protectively over herself, shivering as the night air kissed her bare shoulders. "You shouldn't have given him unicorn's blood. I'm sure there was something else—"

"He was dying, Granger! I didn't have time to break out the cauldron and play apothecarian," he hissed, turning around to face her with a stony expression.

"Now he's going to pay the price," she argued lightly, taking a single step back as he stepped forward. "A cursed life."

"That only applies to those instances where a unicorn is slaughtered for the sole purpose of obtaining its blood. The blood I gave him was salvaged from a unicorn that died during the War, a casualty. He'll be fine," he replied coolly, challenging her to argue any further.

The iciness in his tone, the seething set of his jaw, and the deep pewter of his eyes made Hermione uneasy. He was giving her a predatory look, haunting and deadly. She snapped her mouth shut, but the fire in her chest was only stoked at the feral look on his face. Like a moth to flame, every synapse in her body was screaming at her to rile him up, test his limits and refuse to back down. Their entire lives, Hermione had been the one to stop Harry and Ron from giving into his taunts. But war changed  _ everything _ , and she was ready for battle.

He drawled a lazy, "Are we done here?” 

Digging her heels in, Hermione pursed her lips. Malfoy appeared to take note of her resistance. “Unlike the rest of that incompetent lot, I've got work to do," he turned on his heel and pulled his alchemy mask back on.

"Why are you such a bastard?" she asked him shrilly, stepping in behind him.

"I guess some people never change, Granger," came his harsh reply.

Repositioning her station, she put on a false air of haughtiness. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Well you certainly aren’t staying here,” he told her, repacking her things just as quickly as she got them unpacked. “I have no desire to work with you.”

Malfoy held such a hateful, horrid attitude. Just as she thought he was getting better, every time he had a moment of reprieve, he went and screwed it all up by turning moody and sullen. His mood swings were enough to give her whiplash, but she found an enticing challenge in trying to keep up.

“Don’t be terse, Malfoy. You know this would be far easier with help,” Hermione argued, snatching her bag from his grasp.

“Why must you be so fucking  _ contrary _ ?” he demanded, smacking away the vial of now-lukewarm salt water solution.

“Why must you constantly be so foul-tempered and testy? I’m offering to assist you—you  _ know  _ I am more than capable of brewing this potion properly.”

Malfoy stared her down, arriving at an impasse that neither would willingly back away from. “Just stay out of my way, Granger.”

Feeling triumphant, Hermione pulled her items from her bag and organized them in front of her. She could feel Malfoy’s gaze on her as he worked, watching her from his peripheral to ensure that she was doing the correct wand work and saying the incantations with precision. The task, fresh and challenging, afforded her the ability to clear her mind of everything that had plagued it for the last few days. Ron. The War. Malfoy himself—though she could smell the soft undertones of his cologne from where she stood and hear his deep voice as he whispered the spells.

They worked side-by-side, neither speaking as they did. For too-many silent hours, Hermione watched the lithe ease with which he worked, dragging his wand along the rim of his cauldron. His wand, newly obtained and no longer made of hawthorn, held some of the same intricate, unrecognizable runic patterns that his cauldron sported. She’d never had reason to notice such intricacies before, despite having worked together since returning to school. “What do the runes on your wand mean?” she found herself blurting into the solitude.

Malfoy paused only momentarily, looking straight into the bubbling liquid of his cauldron. Though she couldn’t be certain, she thought she could see color staining his cheeks in the eye shield of his mask. “Don’t you know how to mind your own business?”

“I was just curious. I’ve not seen someone carve into the length of the wand like that before.”

“It speaks of honoring the Ancient ways while creating a path for one’s self,” he murmured, gliding the end of said wand through the surface of his solution.

Her mouth went slack as she gaped at him, her wand stilling as she stared. Malfoy reached over and touched her gloved hand with his own. “Stir your elixir.”

His tone wasn’t harsh, but he spoke in a quiet way, seeming almost embarrassed to speak of such things aloud. Hermione wondered why he would be ashamed of admitting that he was trying to better himself, to rise above his parents’ station in life. “I had to get a new wand,” he continued, and the way he spoke told Hermione that he was giving her a part of himself, raw and uncharted. “They always say that ‘the wand chooses the wizard,’ but when I went to select a new one, I asked Ollivander to create one using specific components.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. Ollivander himself had told her that wands choose who they would serve. She hadn’t ever heard of it the other way around, but was greatly interested now. “What components are you speaking of?”

“My last wand was made of hawthorn and sported a unicorn hair core. A simplistic combination, served me well for many years. But I felt I needed one with a stronger magical core, something to better serve who I am now after the war. I brought him a switch from my mother’s white willow tree. He wove dragon scales together in a thin rope to create a core.”

Curiosity was bubbling in her chest and she was fully aware that she was treading dangerous waters when she asked, “Why white willow and dragon scales?”

Malfoy shot her an impatient look before removing his mask and stepping back from his workstation. Hermione removed an ugly bronze lump from her solution before she did the same. “You’re not going to leave me alone until you know every tiny detail of my pathetic existence, are you?” he asked, combing his fingers through sweat-sticky hair.

Scoffing, she crossed her arms. “I don’t need every sordid, wretched detail of your life. I’m just curious—I’ve never known anyone to fashion a custom wand.”

Malfoy turned his wand over in his hands, looking at it fondly. “Wand lore is fascinating, particularly if you take into account the Old Ways.”

“What do you mean?”

He illuminated the end of his wand and extended it in her direction so she could see the work he’d put into it. The way the corners of his mouth twitched spoke volumes. He was  _ proud _ . Hermione grew increasingly intrigued. “You see,” he ran his thumb over his carvings, “we celebrate the ways of those who came before us while pressing forward to carve our own paths. My mother always stressed showing respect to the ancient Druids and their customs—those of  _ her _ ancestry. My father humored her—he clung more to the pureblood ideologies of the Middle Ages than the ways of earthly magic and honor.”

Hearing Malfoy speak of such strong ties being upheld, Hermione wondered at how much of him she had never been made privy to. It occurred to her that she had never held a real conversation with him before this, one in which he wasn’t biting or crass. “So why white willow and dragon?” she repeated her question.

Malfoy tilted his head to the side and regarded her in the darkness of the night, illuminated by the pale blue at the end of his wand. “Willow osier is known for its medicinal uses—pain relief and healing among them. Willows are protective and cleansing all in one. And dragons, obviously, hold a special meaning to me. But more than just for my name or the constellation connection. They hoard treasure—more symbolic of lifelong prosperity than anything. They are dangerous, beautiful beasts, but they can be tamed and reined in. Monsters turned to docile creatures.”

Instinctively, Hermione knew that he was referring to himself—that his choice in dragon was more than a throwback to his name’s sake.  _ “Nox!” _ he whispered and the gentle glow disappeared. “Go inside now, Granger. We’re done for the night.” He looked up and, for the first time, Hermione realized that the sun was beginning to rise on the horizon, the sky turning pale pink and golden.

o-o-o

When she entered the common room, it appeared as though no one had been able to sleep. Dropping her things, she inquired about Seamus. Everyone appeared weary and exhausted, but thankfully, no one looked worried. "He's fine. His breathing is still pretty shallow, but it's not death rattles anymore," Blaise answered, stirring a spoon around in a cup of coffee absently.

Relief swept through her own chest. "Draco saved him," Luna whispered and the others murmured their agreement.

“Schoolyard rivalries seem so petty now,” Lavender commented, hanging her head as she spoke. “If you would have told me a few years ago that  _ Draco Malfoy  _ would save the life of a Gryffindor, I’d have called you crazy. But here we are.” Lifting her face, she trained her big blue eyes on Hermione. “What else have we been wrong about?”

As the others spoke amongst themselves, Hermione herself was trying to wrap her mind around the fact that the prickly man who had worked in resolute silence alongside her all night had been the fast-acting savior. Furthermore, she had difficulty associating this version of Malfoy with who he had been before the War, when she believed him Dark. He was an enigma with so many layers she desperately wanted to peel back until his core was exposed for her dissection. She held his quiet admissions close to her heart, unwilling to share the ciphers on his wand and the beautiful, intricate displays of magic he used to set the precedence of who he was to become.

"Don't let his attitude get to you," Theo's voice broke her thoughts as he came to stand behind her.

Clearing her mind, she furrowed her brow. "Huh?"

"I said, don't let his attitude get to you. He was scared. Draco doesn't know how to handle being frightened well—his first instinct is to lash out," he reasoned, moving around to sit next to her. “It is a testament to how he regards you that he didn’t hex you into leaving him alone.”

"He called us all incompetent because Seamus had a hole in his glove," she mentioned half-heartedly, locking away his secrets deep in her mind.

Theo shook his head. "You're being too harsh on him. You don't understand what he's been through or where he's coming from. I would rather he spit insults at us than withdraw into himself as he did in sixth year. At least then, we know he's feeling something. You need to think back to everything he told you that day we had to share our stories during the group session. Try to put yourself in his shoes and understand where he's coming from. He has probably had the hardest life of any of us that returned."

Hermione lifted her head from her hands and glared at Theo. "How can you say that? He hasn't had to bury anyone he loved,” she whispered, disagreeing with this sentiment no matter how different Malfoy had been in those few brief moments by the lake. 

Theo gave her a pitying look, wrapping an arm over the back of her chair. "I urge you to talk to him. Maybe not today. Maybe not this month or even this year. But you need to have a serious conversation with him. You'll see—sometimes just because there's no grave to visit doesn't mean that someone hasn't died."

Hermione furrowed her brow at Theo’s riddle as the portrait hole opened and the pale wizard filtered through, looking worn and fatigued. With a nasty glare in the group’s direction, he made his way back to the Heads’ common room. Theo’s hand slipped down and cupped her shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. "Why are you so nice to me? To all of us?" she asked him quietly. “You’re almost too kind to ever have associated with him.”

He looked at her incredulously. "My father was a Death Eater. Not me. I never believed any of his pureblood ideologies. He's dead now, firmly planted six feet under a slab of marble in the backyard at Nott Manor. I want nothing more than for his prejudices to die with him. Draco wants to put his father's beliefs behind him as well, but you have to understand—there was a time he actually believed those falsehoods."

"How can you be so certain that he doesn't anymore?" Hermione asked, biting her lip as she thought of the way he had so delicately held Seamus’ body to his chest.

Theo laughed without mirth. "I suspect he hasn't in years. He’s a lot of talk—a defense mechanism—but there’s no real bite behind any of it.”

"He called me a Mudblood in sixth year. He stood idly by as his aunt carved it into my arm with a cursed dagger," she told him, running her fingers over the offending word.

"And, as I’ve told you, he’s paid the price for that every day since it happened. Nothing has ever affected him as perversely as that day, but he had a role to play, didn't he? He couldn't very well let on that his heart had weakened for the Mudblood friend of Potter," Theo reasoned, placing his hand over hers where she touched the slur on her arm.

Withdrawing his hand, Theo brought it to scrub over his own face. “I’m absolutely knackered. We should get some sleep—I’m sure we’ll have  _ something  _ to rebuild today.”

o-o-o

 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

 

Draco was wide awake on the eve of the thirty-first of August, his back against his headboard and a roll of parchment pressed into his lap. He had completed the other seven letters, but he was finding this one particularly difficult to pen. The other witches and wizards he had selected he had not known personally—only remembered seeing their faces in passing between classes. 

But Pansy? He knew  _ everything  _ about the witch—her dreams and aspirations; her thoughts on the War that ultimately took her life; her desire to become a Healer and a mother; how she took her tea in the morning; the soft curve of her hip and the purr that sounded in her throat during their post-coital cuddling.

Pansy had been the only witch in this world he could see himself marrying and carrying on the Malfoy name with. Intelligent, beautiful, and pureblood—Draco's trifecta of perfection. Spending every waking moment together, the pair had been glued at the hip as children. When they had come to Hogwarts, they'd both been promptly sorted into Slytherin and reigned as the Slytherin Prince and Princess. Everyone had feared and respected them in equal parts, and they were a power couple from a time when they had not even reached puberty.

Pansy had been there for him—reassuring him, keeping him company when he thought he would rather tear his brain from its stem than entertain the idea of killing their Headmaster. Though she had played an integral role in devising the plan for getting the Death Eaters into the castle, she had also held him as he shook and sobbed in the wee hours leading up to the event. Pansy had been the one to sit with him in his bed and whisper sweetly to him after every round of the Cruciatus he had endured under Voldemort's wand.

Tending to his needs, she cared for his mental wounds as much as his physical ones. The day before the Battle of Hogwarts, after a particularly emotional lovemaking, she'd lain with him. In an attempt to calm their nerves, they had discussed the details of their wedding; what she wished to name their future children; how they would grow grey and old together. He had held her tight, relishing in the idea that they may have a future if Voldemort was to ever be defeated, and pulled her against him even tighter at the thought that they may not if Potter died first.

The last time he had seen her, he had placed a kiss her on her lips and told her to run and hide in the girls' dormitory.  _ Don't be a damn Gryffindor, save yourself.  _ Pansy had laughed lightly and ran her hand through his hair, ruffling it the way he allowed only her to do. He saw the hesitation in her eyes as she backed away, and he had given her his best smile and said,  _ "Go."  _ She'd smiled a small upturn of her lips and mouthed,  _ "I love you."  _ He hadn't had time to reply before he narrowly missed a curse being fired his way. When he turned back to where she'd stood, she was gone.

It wasn't until two days later when he was sitting in a holding cell at Azkaban that he learned of her death. The thought of her being alone for two days before she was discovered made him shiver despite the warmth of his new room. 

Steadying his breathing, Draco’s hand shook as he brought it to the parchment. With all of the emotion being poured into the letter, the tears poured from his eyes.  _ Like some bloody Hufflepuff _ , Pansy would have said, as she wiped the tears from his face and kissed the corners of his lips until he smiled.

Draco knew no one could ever dull the aching in his heart. No one could fill the void left in Pansy’s absence.

o-o-o

The eighth-years and Luna stood around and gazed at their completed monument, erected in honor of those who had fallen on these hallowed grounds. Theo had really outdone himself on the design, and Draco could not bring himself to pretend that he was not impressed. He and Granger had done their fair share as well, spending six consecutive nights together by the Black Lake transmutating lead into gold. Glancing at her in his peripheral, he thought she made a formidable partner, if not a completely infuriating one.

Seamus was standing nearby, propped up by one of Longbottom’s arms tucked under his own. If it hadn't been for Draco, the lad would have lost his entire arm and possibly his life. The inquiry he had faced in front of McGonagall had been severe, but the Headmistress had not blamed him as Madam Pomfrey had—a fact that surprised him. A Howler, one courtesy of Professor Newton, had yelled at him for a full five minutes before bursting into flame. Relief flooded Draco as he noted the color in Finnigan’s cheeks.

For the monument, Blaise had settled on two quotes from famous Muggles, by the names of Nelson Mandela and Mahatma Gandhi, to precede the Death Eater's names.  _ ‘Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies,’  _ and  _ ‘The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.’  _ It was simple and got the point across—no use harboring hatred and resentment, it would only poison the mind of the bitter. Their names weren't written in a fancy script with years as the others had been. They were simple letters and without dates. But the names were there, nonetheless, at the back of the monument, not honoring them but remembering them all the same.

Theo stared at his father's name—his own name—for a good while before coming around to join the others. Granger put an arm limply around his back and rested her head on his shoulder, comforting him in silence. Bitterness rose in Draco’s throat that she should comfort Theo when there was a ceaseless ache in his own chest, a sentiment he quickly worked to squash. 

Sighing, Draco moved away from the gilded reminder of a War without true winners. His mother had requested tea with him on his last day before the start of the term. He had absolutely no desire to return home and face his mother; the vice that had loosened some in her absence tightened harshly. Narcissa Malfoy embodied guilt in the days that followed the War: there would never be a time when she would forgive herself for the turmoil she and her husband had put their only son through. Lucius’ Kiss was grieved more laboriously then his death would have been. 

With a room readily available at Hogwarts, Theo would not be heading home to the empty manor he had inherited upon his father's passing, rife with memories of abuse and disdain. He and Draco had stayed there at the beginning of the summer, hiding in Theo's wing, but Draco knew he wouldn't be able to stomach it all by himself. Resolving right then and there that they would be better than their fathers before them, Draco clapped his oldest friend on the shoulder. "Maybe you can be the buffer between Mother and me. She's always had a soft spot for you, but I don't think she'll make as big a scene with you there."

Theo gave him a pitying look as he allowed Draco to lead him to the castle, the blond sighing heavily at the prospect of having to face his mother for the first time in over two months.

When they stepped through the Floo and into the ballroom of Malfoy Manor, Draco's muscles immediately tensed. His neck became stiff and his shoulders set almost painfully. The memories that this room brought back to him made bile rise in his throat and sweat collect on his upper lip. He could hear the screams ringing through the vast space of the room— _ her  _ screams. He could hear his deranged aunt's gleeful laughs and the Dark Lord's anger as he cursed the young Malfoy heir.

Coming to an abrupt halt as the memories filled him completely, Draco fought to abide as Theo hesitantly coaxed him out of the room. "Come on, mate. We'd better find Narcissa. I'm sure she felt the moment you broke through the blood wards."

Theo led them down a long corridor and out to the veranda where his mother was poised, elegant as ever as she sipped from a dainty teacup. When she caught her son's eye, she frowned deeply and stood. "Draco, darling. Why haven't you been home? I haven't seen you in months!”

“Why would you assume I’d want to ever set foot in this hell hole again?” he questioned under his breath.

Swatting his arm, his mother’s tirade began once more. “You look peckish, are you eating regularly? And look at these dark circles, are you sleeping yet? You really must brew a strong Sleeping Draught. Perhaps I can get Bobo to brew one while you’re here." As she spoke rapidly, she pulled him into a bone crushing hug that was only mildly uncharacteristic for a woman of her status.

Draco sighed into his mother's embrace, allowing himself to inhale her comforting scent—freesias and cinnamon. He buried his face in her neck as he did when he was a young child and he felt her hot tears splash onto the shoulder of his shirt. While he had the group therapy and the other returning students to help him momentarily forget the shattered state of his family, his mother had suffered through it alone. Guilt rang through his chest as he mentally chided himself for not coming to her side earlier.

Pulling away, Draco wiped his thumbs across the pretty cheekbones of his mother's worn face. "Don't cry, Mother. I'm sorry I stayed away for so long. It's just…this house…"

She nodded understandingly, a haunted countenance darkening her features. "I know…I'm confined to the Manor twenty-four hours a day. I keep thinking that any moment your father will waltz through that door, complaining about some Muggle-born at the Ministry or wielding one of those unsightly huge bouquets of roses he'd bring home to me."

Narcissa's voice was dripping with sadness, and it hurt Draco to admit that she was barely maintaining the shell of a woman she had once been. He took a long look at her as she batted tears from her own face. In the two months since he'd last seen her, the Malfoy matriarch had aged ten years. Deep crevices marred the corners of her eyes and her mouth no longer held the haughty smirk it once had, instead favoring the downturned frown she wore now.

She seemingly noticed Theo for the first time and pulled him into a motherly embrace as well. For all intents and purposes, Narcissa was the only mother Theo had ever known, and it pained him to see her in this state. His brow furrowed and he grimaced as he took in the state of her worn face. Using her energy to muster her pride a bit, Narcissa called for the family elf, Bobo. He arrived at her side, his eyes growing wide. "Ah, Masters Draco and Theodore. Welcome home."

He bowed deeply to the two men in turn and then straightened up, looking expectantly into his mistress' eyes. "Bobo, please fetch the boys something to eat. A full English breakfast."

"Mother—it's nearly two in the afternoon." Draco rolled his eyes.

With a fond stroke of her fingers through his hair, she sighed. "And you look as though you haven't eaten in three afternoons. Humor me." 

Draco sighed as he took a seat at the table and crossed his ankles, his elbows on the armrests with his hands clasped. He stared out over the Quidditch pitch his father had erected for him when he was nine and felt his heart grow even heavier. "Tell me, how have the group therapy sessions been going? Do you feel as though they're working?" Narcissa asked, sipping her tea once more.

Draco’s eyes turned downward as he avoided his mother’s stare. "It's all so very Hufflepuff. We talk about our feelings and how to cope."

She nodded thoughtfully. "But is it helping? How about your flying? Have you bought a new broom, yet?"

Mulling over her question, Draco was silent a few beats before carefully answering. "I can breathe now."

"We built a monument to honor everyone who died there," Theo offered to the conversation before his tone turned bitter. "All of them."

Narcissa raised an elegant brow and placed her hand over his. "It's okay to be angry now, Theodore. But one day…you'll have to forgive him. Or it will eat you up."

"I could say the same of you, Mother. You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened—I took the Mark willingly," Draco countered, his voice even and calm but pleading with her to see reason.

"Draco…you didn't have to take up for your father's mistakes," she whispered, tears threatening to fall once more.

"I did what I had to do in order to save your life. I would do it again if only to save you from the Dark Lord's wrath," he voiced tenderly, leaning in to kiss his mother’s temple.

As a show of solidarity, Theo added, "I would have done the same if I had been in his position."

"Everything is ruined now: our family; our home; our traditions; our name…how can I forgive myself for that?" she questioned, and Theo retrieved his embroidered handkerchief for her to dab her eyes.

"Lucius' soul may have gone," Draco knew Theo had to fight the urge to imply that he doubted the blond snake had ever possessed one to begin with, "but you still have Draco. And me. And your home can be remodeled or sold—you don't have to stay here."

"Mother, our traditions got us into this mess in the first place. We can't continue preaching the supremacist hatred that has plagued this family for centuries…it's no longer welcome in this world," he pleaded with her.

"Draco-this family has standards…expectations…"

He scoffed, sitting back in his chair. "No, we have a legacy of Dark magic and bigotry that anyone outside of the Sacred Twenty-Eight doesn't care for. We need to begin making a new name for ourselves, Mother. The Malfoys need to be known as more than just Death Eaters and arrogant snits."

Narcissa snapped her mouth shut and looked at her son, and Draco could see the cogs in her mind working. Status meant everything to his mother, and he knew she could not resist an opportunity to put on a front of stability in the face of adversity. "What do you have in mind?" 

"Donating. A sizable amount," Draco replied, gesturing his hands as though it were obvious.

"To whom?"

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he replied. "Mother…there are so many organizations that could benefit from our charity. Orphanages, Hogwarts restorations and educational funds, the Muggle-Born Relief Aid—so many were displaced after being forced to register during the War.”

He ran his finger around the rim of the teacup in front of him, fully aware that he had said something highly controversial. Peering at Theo, he watched the wizard’s eyes widen as he hid behind his teacup. Narcissa’s eyes snapped up at the mention of the last charity and she huffed. "Absolutely not. What would your father think?"

"Quite frankly, Mother, I no longer care." Draco shrugged his shoulders unapologetically. "We need to let the world know we are no longer who we were  _ before _ . It's the only way to save our tarnished name."

Granger’s face burned through his mind then. He blamed the forced proximity to her and closed his eyes, willing the unwelcome thoughts to vanish. When he had sufficiently gathered himself, Theo was speaking. "Narcissa, you've always been brilliant at planning fundraising galas. Why not plan one and invite any and everyone who will respond to your owls? Start by donating your own hefty sum and the others will follow suit. Invite some of the more  _ liberal  _ parties from the Ministry."

Draco knew his mother was considering their proposals, however reluctantly—action was required to save the Malfoy and Black names and secure a better future for her son than the past she had provided him. Her head began to bob in a slow nod. "I suppose I could plan something. Perhaps for Christmas? People get exceedingly generous in the Yuletide season."

Narcissa's eyes shown with the excitement they used to when she was in her element, planning large events. Draco smiled slightly to himself as he had succeeded in distracting her, however momentarily, from her grief.

o-o-o

It was with a heavy heart that Hermione corralled the first-years into the train cars. As Head Girl, her presence was mandatory on the Hogwarts Express. She pitied the children’s nervous, wide-eyed looks and smiled sadly as she remembered her first encounter with Ron and Harry. They had been horrible to her those first few months, but she couldn't picture her time at Hogwarts without the two of them. Her chest tightened as she recalled the series of letters she had received since leaving the Burrow so abruptly. Keeping her head ducked to avoid the recognition of any Weasley or Harry, she sighed in relief as the last of the students found their way aboard. 

Ambling up the designated “Prefects” compartment, it was with great disdain that she realized she would be alone with Malfoy. She grimaced, a deep frown on her face as she went to sit across from him.

Malfoy, per his usual stiff and hateful way, made no acknowledgment of her presence. When he cleared his throat, she took the time to look up from her book and peer at him from her peripheral. Propped up on one elbow on the windowsill, his chin rested in his long fingers. His other hand rested on his thigh, and she watched him, momentarily mesmerized as his thumb absentmindedly ran circles over the fabric of his trousers.

She lifted her sidelong glance a little higher and took note of the way his chest moved up and down with his even breaths. Still higher and it became evident to her that his eyes were staring at her reflection in the window. He smirked to himself and she quickly returned her gaze back to her book, a blush playing at her cheeks.

She definitely wasn't assessing his looks or anything.  _ With a personality like acid, who cares if his stupid face holds a classic handsomeness?  _ No, no. She had been merely looking at him, surveying the curious man who had once tormented her. Hermione wondered what was lurking beneath the surface of his hardened exterior, the scowl he so frequently wore. Was he funny? Was he shy when it mattered? Was he insecure? Ashamed? Did he think of his future often? Was he appreciative of everything Harry and McGonagall had done to keep him from prison?

Willing herself to actually read the words written on the pages before her, Hermione took a steadying breath. There was no doubt that he had caught her peeking at him. Yet he said nothing. What must he be thinking? She shook her head to herself and tried to focus on anything besides the way his thumb continued to run circles over his own thigh.

The door to the compartment slid open and Ginny burst through. “There you are! I’ve been looking  _ everywhere _ for you!”

Hermione’s heart began racing as she sunk lower in her seat and raised her book to hide the violent shade of vermilion her face was turning. Tossing a dirty look in Malfoy’s direction, Ginny sat down on the seat next to Hermione and slung an arm over her shoulder. “’Mione…you okay? After…everything?”

She would have preferred to be tossed into a black hole than to have this conversation with the Weasley daughter in such close proximity to Draco Malfoy. “I’m fine. I’m sorry to have upset everyone.”

“We weren’t  _ upset.  _ Well…Ron was, understandably. It isn’t like you to do something like this. We were  _ worried _ ,” Ginny told her, opening a chocolate frog with the wave of her wand. “You just left without a word.”

Hermione finally looked up from her book and found that Ginny’s face was contorted with concern. She glanced toward Malfoy, who was pretending to pick lint from his trousers. “We can talk later, Gin.”

With a furtive glance at Malfoy, her friend nodded. “As long as you’re okay.”

“Everything just got…heavy,” Hermione replied quietly, lifting her book to begin her pointless attempt at reading once more.

_ “Just because you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn’t mean we all have.”  _ How Hermione wished in that moment, as her mind crowded with far too many abstract thoughts, that she did have such limited emotional capacities. Across from her, Malfoy retrieved his new Potions text and cracked it open, effectively continuing his chilly ignoring of her. Her head tipped back against the seat and Ginny snuggled up to her, settling into her shoulder to take a nap. As the heavy fog of sleep calmed her, it was a shirtless Malfoy, perched against an oak tree as he spoke of becoming a Death Eater, that filled her dreams.

Hours later, the train finally stopped in front of the looming acropolis that would be their home for only nine more months. Ginny had departed the compartment, leaving Hermione alone with Malfoy once more. An unease settled in her belly as she wondered how long they had been alone as she slept. Pulling her robes swiftly over her head, she stepped in front of the doorway, effectively blocking Malfoy from leaving. He impatiently tapped his briefcase against his legs. "What now, Granger?"

Combating the flyaway curls around her face, she huffed. "We need to work on a schedule to continue restoring the library."

"We just fucking got back and already you're riding me. Can we discuss it tomorrow?" his voice was unkind when he spoke.

Hermione was flustered at his choice of words, the picture of him shirtless in the sunlight burned on the back of her eyelids. "Fine. But tonight, you need to act like Head Boy and help me get the first-years in line."

Shepherding the first-years into the enchanted boats was far simpler than she would have guessed initially. The students’ excitement had died to an anxious quiet, the group eerily obedient as Malfoy held out a hand to assist the children. When the last frightened eleven-year-old was safely on the boats, they began to move of their own accord, Hagrid’s booming voice giving them a brief history of their trek to the castle. 

Falling into step with Malfoy, Hermione clambered into a carriage, and he shuddered at the sight of the ghastly thestrals that pulled them. The carriage moved and swayed, lulling her back into a hazy tiredness, lowering her defenses some. They went over a particularly rough bump and her shoulder brushed against Malfoy’s briefly. Reflexively, he tensed and his muscles tightened beside her. She scowled down at her folded hands. Did he really still think of her as so disgusting the mere brushing of fabric on fabric made him tense?

After what seemed like far too many uncomfortable minutes, they finally came to a halt and she practically jumped out of the suffocating perimeters of the carriage. They went to the docks and assisted Hagrid in pulling first-years up onto the platform. "Come along," Malfoy called, beckoning the young ones to follow him.

Hagrid shook his head gruffly. “Can’ believe they let him back. After everythin’,” he muttered.

Against her better judgment, Hermione disagreed. “He’s still got a nasty temper, but he’s not the evil little git we all perceived.”

The half-giant looked at her incredulously and clapped a first-year on the back, causing the boy to stumble. “Jus’ be careful.”

Hermione followed the line of children into the Great Hall. They peered around and pointed up at the ceiling, the floating candles, the long tables. Hermione was following and had to continue ushering them forward toward the Sorting Hat. Recalling her own experience with the Hat, she stood with the group of new students. The Hat had whispered in her ear about how great she would be if placed into Ravenclaw, how her brilliance would truly shine there. But it had looked deeper into her psyche and saw underlying courage and bravery, calling out  _ Gryffindor!  _ before she had time to think. The decision was ultimately the correct one, and she was forever grateful for the friends she had made in the lion’s den.

The other eighth-years were already at a short table on the platform, right in front of, but slightly below, the Professors' table. Malfoy came to sit next to her, and it was then that she heard it. The doubts. The derision. The hatred.

_ "Can you believe they let him back into this school? After who  _ he  _ let in?"  _ a second-year Ravenclaw said from the end of the blue-adorned table, not bothering to be discrete.

_ "He probably had to pay his way out of Azkaban…"  _ said a fourth-year Gryffindor at an opposite table.

_ "He was too much of a pussy to actually kill anyone…my father says…"  _ a seventh-year Slytherin was telling another as he sauntered over to the far table.

Malfoy stood and stalked through the crowd of first-time and returning students, who parted like the red sea, all afraid to come into contact with him. Hermione stared at his retreating back and felt her sympathetic heart tug for him. This year was sure to be lonely for him, with everyone treating him like a social pariah. His shoulders slouched just a little and she wondered if the comments had broken him. They had certainly broken any hope she had for true unification of the school.

o-o-o

The first day back in classes was a surreal moment for Hermione. Having taken the last year off to squat in the woods and hunt Horcruxes, she had forgotten what the simplicity of a school schedule did to soothe her sanity. The eighth-years were required to take the seven core classes: Astronomy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, and Transfiguration. While she filled her schedule to the brim with Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, Malfoy had opted to take Ancient Runes and Advanced Alchemy as electives. During the one free hour he had each week, he would be teaching the first-years' flying lessons. Secretly intrigued that he was taking as many classes as her, Hermione found that she was pleasantly surprised that he did not take the bare minimum to skirt through the year.

The eighth-years sat at their designated long desk on the side of the Potions classroom. Slughorn had returned for another year of teaching, his last he claimed to Headmistress McGonagall when he had accepted the position. "This is your last and final year at Hogwarts. As a result, you will be required to complete a year-long project, a sort of practical thesis if you will."

Malfoy sat up straight to listen as the Professor spoke, mildly irritated with the scratching of her quill as she furiously took notes. "The names of all of the seventh-years in this room—first time and returning—have been placed into this cauldron. In turn, you will all come up and take a slip. If someone draws your name, you are to pair up with that individual and their name will subsequently disintegrate. Let's start on this side of the classroom, shall we? Once you've been paired, move to be seated with one another. These will be your seats for the remainder of the year." He motioned to the seventh-year Slytherins.

Name after name was drawn, Slughorn reading each aloud. When there were only a dozen students left unpaired, Hermione's heart sank. Approaching her with the cauldron, Slughorn waved it before her. She reached her hand in and swirled the few names around before retrieving a name. There was no need to unfold it—she knew exactly whose neat creases were folded into the parchment. Slughorn took it from her and smiled widely. "Ah. Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy. My two best students…I expect you'll give each other a run for your money, eh?"

Malfoy slammed his text closed and slumped back into his chair. His actions mirrored her internal battle perfectly. Once the others had been paired, Slughorn returned to the front of the classroom. "The assignment is to select four classes, extra credit for adding a fifth,” he tossed an expectant glance at the Heads, “and find a way to connect the curriculum of each as one large project."

His instructions were laden with holes. "That's pretty vague, Professor," Hermione criticized, anxiously biting her lip.

"Yes, well, I can't give out too many ideas, can I?” Slughorn returned, his features betraying his displeasure at her line of questioning. Beside her, Malfoy scoffed his distaste as the Professor continued. “But for example, take Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. You could use offensive spells you've learned in Defense and create a healing solution. There are only certain Astrological times that plants can be grown to brew potions, Miss Granger. You would have to be astute in your learning to connect the four classes. Each pair of you is to come up with a scenario and solution. It will be required to pass this in order to graduate, so I would take it seriously." He rapped on the desk in front of Seamus whose eyes had begun to glaze over. "Now, for today's lesson, we will be beginning our month-long lessons on first aid potions. Please turn your books…”

Zoning out completely, Hermione wondered how she could be expected to work with Malfoy when they barely tolerated the sight of one another? "Meet me in the library tonight at seven," he hissed at her through clenched teeth.

"Why can't we meet any earlier? I'd like to finish my Care of Magical Creatures lesson plans," she whispered back, turning in her book to the page Slughorn specified.

Always obstinate, he bickered, "I've got to teach first years how to fly at five, I'll need a shower…" 

"We're doing  _ homework _ . And I hardly think you'll work up a sweat teaching children how to levitate on a broom five feet off the ground. Six," she countered.

"Six-fifteen. I need time to pack away the brooms and Quidditch supplies."

Hermione huffed. "Fine. Six-fifteen."

He leaned toward her and a wave of spearmint washed over her, causing her head to spin. "You don't have to have such an attitude, Granger," the wizard quipped, still whispering in a harsh tone.

"You don't have to be so irritating, Malfoy," she spat back.

" _ I'm  _ irritating? All I said was that I would prefer not to sit in my own filth while we did homework—”

"Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy? Miss Granger?" Professor Slughorn asked, stopping his lesson to address their rising voices.

"No, sir," Hermione piped up, averting her eyes from the Professor's withering stare.

"Then, if you are quite done, I'd like to teach my class."

Malfoy turned pink around his ears, and Hermione's chest blushed a brilliant shade of scarlet at the reprimanding, but both remained silent. After the ancient bell had chimed to signal the end of the class, Slughorn made one final announcement. "Mr. Malfoy is going to be my assistant for this upcoming year. Should any of you have any questions or need tutoring in any area of potions, he would be the one to ask for help."

The whispering started once more as half of the room looked at him with disdain and the other half looked at him in wonder or awe. He looked down at the floor and everyone collected their belongings to leave. It was as he packed his school books that Astoria Greengrass decided to saunter up to the end of the table where Malfoy stood. "My, my…if it isn't the prodigal son," she smiled broadly at him.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the daft, coal-haired, porcelain-skinned doll. Malfoy rose one flirtatious eyebrow and offered his hand out to capture Astoria's. She placed her hand delicately into his with a feminine giggle as Malfoy bowed slightly. "Miss Greengrass, I should have guessed you would be in an Advanced Potions class. You always were brilliant. And look here—you’re as divine as ever. Did you do something different with your hair?" he asked, a wide handsome smile on his face.

Unable to understand the pinching sensation she felt on her heart, Hermione eavesdropped as she listened to the old-fashioned, pureblood way he was flirting with the younger Greengrass sister. "I let it grow out some," Astoria mentioned, using her hand to flick it back over her shoulder seductively.

Malfoy's smile grew devilish. "Well, you look positively gorgeous," he complimented, using his hand to pull at one of the bouncy layers near her face.

Astoria laughed a musical laugh and swatted his arm. "And you haven't changed a bit. Still as charming as ever."

With that, she gave him one last smoldering smile and sashayed off, her hips swinging entirely too much to be a natural walk. Hermione rolled her eyes once more as she noticed Malfoy's gaze on Astoria's rear. His eyes flickered to her and he glowered at her. "Is there something I can help you with, Granger?"

"Who knew you could be…flirtatious and kind?" she allowed, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

He smirked. "Anyone worth flirting with and being kind to. Don't worry, Granger, you'll never get to experience that side of me."

And with that he stalked off, the smile on his lips entirely too cruel for Hermione's liking.

o-o-o

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have loved hearing from you all! This was my favorite scene in the first version, so I just enhanced it some. I couldn’t bear to change the whole scene. You’re all amazing and I want to thank you for the love and support. It is important for me to hear what you all think, especially as I rewrite this story in preparation for completely beginning an all new sequel. Please take a few minutes to review--it would mean the world. Beta love to tectonictigress!

Chapter 9:

"Ah…the Elixir of Life is an extremely advanced and difficult potion that many wizards and Muggle alchemists alike have tried to obtain and none have fully succeeded," Slughorn was saying to Malfoy and Hermione, shaking his head so forcefully that his neck wobbled.

"We're not trying to obtain everlasting life, Professor. Merely trying to heal those who have suffered repeated Cruciatus Curses and are living with lasting repercussions," Malfoy reasoned, speaking slowly and calmly.

Slughorn nodded thoughtfully. "This seems unattainable, even for my two best students…”

“Professor, with all due respect, this is our project, and we  _ will  _ succeed. We are simply asking for access to the necessary ingredients,” Hermione said, her tone displaying her indignance at his questioning of her intellect.

“We can send off for the ingredients if we must—I have plenty of gold in my vaults,” Malfoy offered, folding his hands in front of him. 

Waving away their consternation, Slughorn sighed. “That won’t be necessary. But, heed my warning: if a single ingredient is mixed the wrong way or under the wrong constellation, the result will be catastrophic."

Hermione exchanged glances with her prickly counterpart and said, "Understood, Professor. I think we can manage it."

"We are more than competent," Malfoy added, and a surge of contentment went through Hermione when he included her in that statement.

Slughorn grunted and gestured toward his supply cupboard. "Of course you are, Mr. Malfoy. It's nice to have you back, by the way," he mentioned, placing graded essays on both of his top students' desks.

Malfoy unraveled his, and Hermione noticed it was a foot longer than her own with a large  _ '120'  _ at the top in red ink, no other red blemishing his neat script. She opened her own and frowned at the  _ '116'  _ at the top, a red note in the margin about her incorrectly placing the brewing time of the potion at dawn instead of dusk. Malfoy looked over at her parchment and grinned widely. "Hmm, well look at that, I beat  _ the  _ Hermione Granger at something."

"Oh, bugger off, Malfoy," she said, gritting her teeth and pushing her essay into the depths of her bag.

"Hmm, you aren’t testy at all, are you?" he teased, his tone more belittling and agitating than friendly.

Hermione's cheeks burned as Slughorn came around once more. "Professor," Malfoy drew his attention, "Granger and I were wondering if you would be okay with us coming by Thursday during lunch to collect the necessary items we need for our project?"

Not having wondered that at all, Hermione reluctantly went along with her partner. She’d assumed they would retrieve everything after class one day. Slughorn smiled widely. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I'm teaching the sixth year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs about Amortentia that day…perhaps you both could assist in tutoring?"

Nodding, the two got up to leave the classroom. Desperate for a few minutes away from Malfoy, with the hopes that her agitation with his higher marks would dissolve, she ran ahead of him. He would be there, right behind her in Ancient Runes, as usual. The only time they ever had apart was when they separated for him to go to Alchemy and her to Arithmancy and when he was out on the Quidditch pitch training first years or refereeing the practice games.

Hermione was not used to being bested on any assignment, and she couldn't shake the feeling he was doing it to get under her skin. He couldn't possibly write essays that long without good reason, could he?

She propped herself primly into her seat at the second to last desk beside a seventh-year Hufflepuff. She began pulling her books out of her bag, setting up a fresh sheet of parchment on which to take notes.  _ He _ came in a few minutes later. Hermione looked up at him, disgusted at the poncy smirk he was wearing as he passed her table, his portfolio-style briefcase swinging entirely too merrily next to him.

Malfoy slid into the seat behind her and pulled out his own writing utensils to take notes as Professor Babbling came into the room. Tapping her wand on the blackboard, Egyptian Hieroglyphics appeared. "Can anyone tell me where these particular symbols could be found?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air, but to her surprise and apparently to Professor Babbling's surprise, she called on the blond git behind her. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy…?"

"Those are Egyptian Hieroglyphics, and by the looks of them, I'd say they could be located in the Book of the Dead?" he finished, entirely too smug for Hermione’s liking.

"Correct. And what exactly is the Book of the Dead?"

Hermione tried, she really did. But he was quicker than she again and he finished up his explanation without even being called on. "It's the ancient Egyptian funerary text—also referred to as the Book of Coming Forth by Day. It contains the Egyptians' beliefs on the afterlife, how to preserve a body for the journey and spells and incantations to ensure the departed reaches said afterlife safely."

With a glance over her shoulder, Hermione gave him an incredulous stare. How on Earth did Malfoy know all of this? As far as she could remember, they hadn't yet discussed Ancient Egypt in  _ any  _ class thus far.

He gave Hermione an insufferable wink and a smug grin as he relaxed back into his seat. This was twice in one day that he had outdone her, and she was not enjoying it one bit. She carefully took notes as Professor Babbling spoke and drew new symbols.

Still fuming, she packed her bag at the end of class. He was getting ready to walk out when Hermione reached out and grabbed his robes. Startled by her touch, Malfoy turned on his heel and glared at her. "Is there some reason why you're pawing at me?" His voice was venomous.

"How did you know all of that information?" she asked him, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Did you cheat and find out what we'd be studying today?"

He snorted. "No, Granger. Believe it or not, you're aren’t the only person who enjoys reading."

" _ Ancient Egyptian Funerary texts?  _ We haven't covered that material in any class thus far. The only time I've ever seen reference to it was when I was in Muggle school." Her lips were curved downward at this point, trying to solve the mystery.

"I guess you have your answer then," Malfoy said as he strode away from her. "Oh, and Granger? Six-fifteen. Don't be late."

Hermione bristled at the thought of having to sit with him in the library again. During their last foray into the battered room, they'd gone over the gist of what he wanted to do for their year-long project, and she couldn't deny that his ideas were intriguing. But she hated admitting to herself that she was interested in his mind—formidably complementary to her own.  _ I guess you have your answer, then.  _ Did he secretly read Muggle books behind his father's back?

o-o-o

Hermione sat in the library, grading third-year Care of Magical Creatures papers—a task Hagrid had been thrilled to unload on her. Waiting for Malfoy to finish his flying lessons with the children, she listened to the soft pattering of rain on the window. Hopefully the thunder and lightning would wait until after her meeting with Malfoy—if she was going to have a PTSD-induced flashback, she'd rather it take her in bed and alone. She could only imagine the shit talking Malfoy would do at the sight of her having a meltdown.

At six-thirteen, Malfoy strode into the library, his hair mussed and plastered to his head in some spots. Clad in a royal purple Wulfric House Referee jersey, he was still sopping wet, dripping water falling from his frame. He began unstrapping his arm pads as he took the seat across from her. Wrinkling her nose, she scooted her papers away from his side of the desk. "Ugh, you could have at least done a drying spell.”

He rolled his eyes and retrieved his wand to evaporate the water. He didn't appear to be irritated at the wet clothing, or the state his hair was in. In fact, he appeared as though being back on a broomstick had made him lighthearted and exhilarated for the first time in years. 

Hermione watched him over her papers, sneaking a peek only when he was distracted. She secretly hoped he wouldn't tend to his mussed hair—it made him look light and carefree.  _ Human _ . Inhaling deeply with the intent to let out a dramatic sigh, she instead breathed in a breath full of  _ Malfoy _ . Freshly mown grass and the ground after a summer rain; spearmint and cedar; a slightly musky scent that was  _ him  _ after Quidditch. The way that scent clung to her nostrils and sent a wave of warmth over her frustrated the witch to no end. Willing her cheeks not to flush and trying her best to sound disgusted, she quipped, “You need a shower.”

Malfoy glowered at her as he sat back in his chair, pushing the wet hair off of his forehead. "No shit, Granger. I tried explaining this to you last week when you jumped all over me for wanting to meet at seven."

"Well see to it that you're here promptly at seven next time. I can't take another night of that foul odor," she spat forcefully, trying her best to mimic irritation, though there was a foreign coiling in her belly that suggested she was anything but.

His lighthearted demeanor rapidly dissipating, he rose without looking at her. "We need to get started on the Restricted Section."

"We haven't finished the other areas yet," she remarked, gesturing at the area around where they sat.

"Yes, but everyone knows all of the best answers come from the books contained within the Restricted Section. Why don't you work out here and I'll work in there? This could get done twice as quickly," Malfoy reasoned, far too sensible for Hermione’s liking.

Refusing to wait for an answer, he stalked off toward the back corner of the library. His scent still clung to the air, and she spotted his Quidditch bag alongside one of the bookshelves. From it protruded the corner of a leather book—the journal Healer Little had given them weeks ago. If he was carrying it in his bag with his Quidditch gear, that at least meant he was writing in it on occasion, right?

Curiosity was burning in her like wildfire. What would the Slytherin Prince have to write about? Would he write of the War? His regrettable decisions? His feelings about losing Pansy Parkinson? His dreams and ambitions? The possibilities were endless, and Hermione surveyed the journal from afar, her eyes unwavering as she recounted the few interactions with Malfoy she had labored during the War. 

Then,  _ it  _ happened. The moment she had been dreading since it had begun to sprinkle earlier that afternoon. She'd held up decently over the summer, but her mind was frazzled with thoughts of Draco Malfoy and she was emotionally weakened by the separation from her longtime friends. The sound rumbled through the old castle walls, causing dust and loose mortar to topple down. Lightning flashed, illuminating the bookshelves for a few brief moments. 

Then she was back in the Great Hall on the second of May, the room filled with people—broken and battered bodies littering the floor as others sent hexes and Unforgivables at one another. Molly's screech rang through her ears as she watched Fred fall to the ground, limp. The acrid taste of blood burned metallic on her tongue and the memory of Dark Magic caused tremors to shiver through her entire body. Sweat lined her lip as she remembered how choking the humidity had been that night. Screams clouded her mind and the clenching of her eyes brought flashes of red and green light.

The library faded from focus as she watched her friends and enemies fall, scream, curse. Falling limply from her chair, Hermione covered her ears with her hands, trying desperately to drown out the sound of the godforsaken screaming. The moans and gurgles of the injured and dying were a staccato rhythm playing through her fatigued psyche. She clenched her eyes shut as she swallowed repeatedly, her throat burning dry as cotton. Rocking back and forth with tears streaming down her face, Hermione fought to hear Healer Little's voice giving her commands. The Healer’s voice sounded as though it were underwater, and Hermione knew then that she was drowning.

o-o-o

A loud crash of thunder and a bright snap of lightning shook the castle, extinguishing the sconce that had lit Draco’s workspace. Looking up from where he was struggling to rebind a book on forbidden artifacts of the sixth century, he sighed. He withdrew his wand from his back pocket and muttered a quick  _ Incendio  _ to relight the sconce just as a piercing scream echoed through the devastation.

Not just any scream, but the shriek that had haunted his nightmares since the spring. Just the mere sound of it brought the vision of the ballroom at Malfoy Manor to the forefront of his mind. His aunt's cackling as she carved into the smooth skin of the witch's arm. His face ached where the crudely healed scars littered his smooth features after the chandelier crash. On his tongue, the taste of the blood and dust that had settled around the house after Potter's quick departure. Reverberating through his heart, he could feel the wrath of the Dark Lord as he let out a guttural screech upon finding out that Potter and his friends had escaped the Malfoys' clutches. Above all else, however, he could smell the sweet scent of vanilla, mixed with a summer rainstorm and a brand-new roll of parchment, clouding his senses. 

Granger’s screams ripped through his brain like a knife through flesh, and it was difficult to discern if the sound was in his mind or in the library around him. Upon realizing that it had been her scream that brought the visions to his mind initially, Draco leapt from his chair and sprinted through the library to the table where he had left Granger fifteen minutes prior. In the pitch-black room, another flash of lightning illuminated the scene. The sight that lay before him both frightened and bewildered Draco in that moment: the pages of various books lay strewn about the floor and an ink pot splashed across the hardwood floor and the fabric of Granger's trousers.

Most frightening of all was Granger herself. Sitting with her back against the shelves, she rocked into them repeatedly, causing books to rain down around her. Her hands were clasped tightly over her ears, sandwiching her face, and her eyes were shut so tightly, Draco almost wondered if it hurt. As the tears streamed down her face, her voice grew hoarse with each fresh screech.

Draco was at a loss. They were not friends or even cordial—he had insulted her earlier that day and she had returned the favor only minutes before. But something in the raw, aching way she was breaking tugged at his long-hardened heart. He hesitated only a moment more and then went to kneel beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Granger.  _ Granger!  _ Snap out of it," he whispered, trying to be stern, though his voice shook with worry.

Granger’s eyes settled on his, though she appeared to be looking straight through him. A chill, like that of the first snow of winter, ran through Draco’s veins. "He's dead—they're  _ all  _ dead," she muttered.

Draco had no idea who  _ he  _ was—that could refer to any number of men who had died here months prior—but he nodded, his eyes wide and weary. "That's right, Granger. The Dark Lord is dead—he'll never harm anyone again…"

Commencing her rocking, she closed her eyes once more and began sobbing. Draco had no idea what how to help her, but his mood was shifting away from worried and moving with a dangerous recklessness toward anger. Anger at Granger, for not exposing herself to her trigger as she was instructed and for not remembering how to breathe; anger at Potter and Weasley for leaving him with this shit storm; anger at the War and the Dark Lord for ruining everything he had ever cared about; anger at the Gods for making a thunderstorm appear on the one night Granger wasn't holed up in her dorm room.

Placing his hands under her elbows, Draco pulled her into a standing position. His next course of action, he decided, was either going to snap her out of her episode or set her further into it. He knew that once she came back to him, the feisty witch was sure to be spitting pissed. He tucked her wand into his back pocket, lest he get hexed for his actions.

Granger fought him tooth and nail, all the while yelling about Antonin Dolohov attacking her as he wrapped his arms around her securely. "Stop resisting, Granger, or you're going to get hurt!"

As she thrashed about, Draco considered putting her in a full body bind before deciding against it.  _ She’s scared and upset.  _ She kicked into the air and lifted up a few times in his arms, screaming non-coherently into the still night. He knew what Granger needed and he was going to deliver. He tightened his arms around her in a vice grip, struggling only slightly as her fights turned into feeble protestations. Wandlessly opening the door to the courtyard, he struggled to march them into the cold rain. His breaths fell from his lips in swift pants, though he knew it was more out of blind rage than from half-carrying, half-dragging her. Her breathing slowed as she felt the rain wash over her.

A flash of lightning slithered across the sky and thunder clapped in the distance, a crack louder than Apparition. "Goddammit, Granger.  _ Pull yourself together _ ," Draco hissed through clenched teeth, his anger at the world and this witch causing an aching in his chest.

Granger’s face tilted up toward him, and the absolute brokenness he saw etched into her features nearly brought him to his knees. He closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them to stare at a place behind her. Remembering Healer Little and Luna’s soft-spoken commands, he breathed—in through the nose, out through the mouth. As the seething anger began to ebb, Granger’s mousy voice caught him off guard. "Harry?" she whispered, disoriented. 

Draco dragged his eyes down to meet hers. The breath was swept from his lungs at the look she gave him, damaged and mournful. "No. It's Draco, er- _ Malfoy _ …" he replied in a maladroit whisper, noting that it was Potter she asked for and not Weasley.

The haze in her eyes lifted and sobs wracked her body. When her face dropped into his shoulder, he leaned back slightly, unsure of how much contact he should be making now that she had been pulled from her vision and knew in whose arms she was so tenderly cradled. "Calm down, Granger. It's just a rainstorm. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

The air was cool as the rain pelted the pair. With his Quidditch jersey and robes clinging to his own body, Draco glanced at her thin clothing. She shivered violently, though he was unsure of whether it was because of the cold rain or her body's reaction to the violent episode. Pulling his robes off quickly, he cast a drying and a warming spell on both her and the robes before he draped it around her shoulders and clasped the fastener around her neck.

Granger looked up at him once more, the tears leaving burning trails down her cheeks. It was then that she replaced her forehead onto the front of his shoulder and sobbed openly into his body. She knew who he was, knew where they were—he could see the awareness in her eyes. And yet, she took from him exactly what she needed in that moment—something no one else could give to her. The assurance that he understood her shattered soul for the blackened void it was currently, that he had his own bottomless abyss to match.

The heat from her tears soaked through his already wet Quidditch ensemble. Draco sighed deeply, giving up the hardened façade he wore at all times. He allowed her moment of weakness and gave her a rare moment of compassion, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a stiff, uneasy fashion. Never having felt so strange or confused in his life, he rested his cheek against her crown. He breathed her scent—one that had tormented him for endless days and nights—and his heart stuttered as the smell soothed parts of him that he didn't even realize were in need of a salve.

They stood like that for Merlin knew how long, her shaking becoming tiny tremors and her sobs quieting to hiccups. As the rain calmed to a drizzle, Granger stepped away from him. His hands fell to his sides, and Draco made no move to continue their embrace. Making a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, Granger gave him a melancholy smile. "I still hate you," she told him, a hiccup wracking her shoulders.

A gruff laugh escaped Draco’s lips. "The feeling is mutual, trust me," he told her, betraying his heart as he searched her wide eyes.

Convinced that she was not going to have another episode, he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck with one unsure hand. "Right, well…why don't we call it a night in the library?"

Granger nodded as she swiped her hands under her eyes, pushing the tears away. The pair went in silence to retrieve their bags and schoolbooks from the library. Hopeful that she would feel no need to use it, Draco handed her the wand he had confiscated earlier. Their trek to their rooms was made in complete silence, each one contemplating the series of events that had unfolded over the course of the evening. 

When they stepped into the Wulfric Common Room, Theo took one look at their state and sprang to his feet. "What the bloody hell happened?" he asked, coming around the couch to stand in front of Granger.

His hands slid over her upper arms and he leaned down to look into her eyes as she bit her lip and looked at the ground. Draco raised one hand behind her, effectively silencing Theo's questioning. "Not tonight, Nott."

Theo recoiled slightly but knew better than to argue with his friend. He looked as utterly perplexed as Draco felt in that moment, but he nodded once and backed out of the way to allow the Heads to pass.

Granger went into her room, and Draco knew she put a silencing charm up as soon as he heard her footsteps stop shuffling. Thoughts were running through his head at rapid-fire and he felt nauseated, a migraine beginning. He knew perfectly well why he'd done it—Granger needed a harsh hand to guide her or she would never face her triggers. But the event that transpired once they were in the rain is what confounded him most: the odd embrace they'd shared for entirely too long in the pouring rain, two enemies against the outside world.

He willed his mind to settle as he peeled away his wet Quidditch clothing and stepped into the shower. He allowed the steam and the warm water to relax his aching, freezing limbs and back as he forced himself to think of anything else besides the way Granger had felt in his arms.

o-o-o

 

 

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Not much changed on this chapter. Next chapter begins something new...and the beginning of y’all hating me for a while…
> 
> Thank you for all of the love you’ve shown to this story. I hope you’re all enjoying this! Please review! Special thank to tectonictigress for her beta work!

Chapter 10:

On Thursday, Draco met Granger outside of the Potions classroom at the start of their lunch break. They needed to collect the ingredients for their Cruciatus Calming Draught if they were to begin brewing it by the light of the Harvest Moon. Granger had not spoken a single word of the odd experience they had shared two nights before, and for that he was grateful. He had no desire to rehash the display of affection.  _ Is she thinking of me? Repulsed at the thought of having been held by me? _ Self-loathing threatened to overwhelm him.

It was uncharacteristic of him to show such compassion and kindness, particularly in the days after the War’s end, but there had been something to her innocence and vulnerability. He had long thought his heart irreparably hardened. But seeing Granger’s broken stance and the slump of her shoulders as she had sobbed into him chiseled away a little of the ice that encased the infernal organ. Draco had never been good at comforting people. Even with Pansy, he had taken to seeking revenge in her stead rather than consoling her as she wept. After all, how could someone who had caused so much pain say or do anything remotely reassuring?

_ She didn’t push you away.  _ It bewildered Draco when he thought of the way she'd stood with her face buried in his shirt and wept openly into his shoulder. His arms had encircled her, and he had held her tightly to himself. All the while, she had allowed such contact.  _ What of that? _

When they threatened to consume him, Draco tried to push these thoughts from his mind. Thinking about Granger was dangerous for his well-being and would set him back in terms of healing and planning his future. He had harbored a tender interest in her during his childhood, this much was true. But his father's prejudices, coupled his own emotional plight in sixth year and subsequent stint with the Dark Lord, had ruined any chance he could have had with her. He was beyond that little adolescent crush now—he was a grown man, aged beyond his years and more fucked up than any one individual should ever be. A lifetime of exposure to Dark Magic had ruined him—mind, body, and soul. With Pansy gone, he was certain no one could ever love him with all of his hatred and splintered pieces.

Granger rounded the corner, chewing on her bottom lip and looking as though she were perturbed. She could not bring herself to look at him as she walked past to enter the classroom. Her mood seemed to match his perfectly—confused, awkward, anxious. They had barely tolerated one another before that night, and now being around one another was unbearable.

Draco followed her into the Potions classroom to find Slughorn already explaining the properties of Amortentia. He wasn't really listening—Amortentia was child's play compared to some of the potions he enjoyed brewing in his spare time. As Slughorn spoke, he retrieved the list of ingredients he'd written the night before and went to the supply cabinets. Granger followed and stood next to him to collect what she could. "Some of these ingredients aren't here, Malfoy," she whispered to him, trying not to draw attention from the students.

"I'm well aware. I've already alerted Longbottom as to what we are brewing and what we hope to accomplish. Given his…understanding of the issues we wish to eradicate, he has agreed to assist us in whatever manner he can," came his curt reply.

They gathered various vials and pouches, Draco storing it all in his briefcase, on which he'd placed an extendable charm just that morning. As he was closing the doors to the cabinets, Slughorn called on them finally. "Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger are two of our returning seventh-year students and the top of their class. If any of you should have questions, you can ask one of us. Please, begin your work at this time."

With an impatient sigh on his part, Draco and Granger split to walk around the classroom. He was grateful for the distraction, even if it meant tutoring sixth-years in the ways of making the world's most potent love potion. It was a while before any of the cauldrons were a pearly sheen or emitting a swirling cloud. Draco was standing next to a particularly nervous-looking, heavy-set boy, showing him how to crush the cloves instead of chopping them when he suddenly caught a whiff of vanilla and fresh parchment.

He gritted his teeth.  _ She must be standing over my shoulder. Merlin forbid I give unauthorized, but useful, tips to students _ . "Granger, if you could kindly leave me be, all I smell is that owl's nest you call hair."

The heavy-set boy looked up at Draco with a confused look. "Pardon?"

Draco looked up from his work to see that he was alone with the boy in the corner of the room and that the witch in question was on the other side by the door, frowning into a perfectly pearly cauldron. His heart began to thrum. How could he possibly smell her scent from this far away with all of the cauldrons around him beginning to swirl? He left the student to pace slowly around the room and save for one table that managed to turn their potion a violent shade of pea green that gave off the smell of rotten eggs, everyone else seemed to be achieving their intended results.

Leaning over each shimmering cauldron he came across, her scent never left him. He bent carefully into each swirling cloud and was growing more and more dizzy with the concentrated impact each time. Slughorn smiled at him as he approached. "Tell me, my boy, what is it you smell that has you huffing at every table?"

Draco's eyes flickered toward Granger only long enough to see her head shoot up and he knew she was listening for his response. He cleared his throat. "Er—apples and chocolate and…cinnamon…" he tried to think of the exact opposite of what he was actually smelling because if he didn't clear his head of the intoxicating haze he was under, he was sure to retch violently into the nearest loo.

He grabbed his briefcase and stalked out of the room, grateful for the musty smell of the dungeon corridors.  _ Why her fucking scent?  _ Draco didn't love her—he barely even knew her beyond the swotty little priss she had been before the War. One thing in particular that Slughorn had said that afternoon repeated itself like a mantra in his head:  _ "The potion can be a smell you may not fully recognize right away—but the potion is never wrong. You may not realize what is in your heart just yet, but trust in Amortentia." _

The thought made him queasy with unease. He didn't really know much about the woman, except what his thirteen-year-old self had found attractive about her—her wits and intelligence above all else. As he swaggered through the corridors and up toward his room, her image popped into Draco's mind. Her lightly tanned skin, sprinkled with freckles all over; the warm chocolate color of her eyes with a gold that ignited when she got feisty; soft pink lips with endearing little bite marks from where she incessantly gnawed on them; her lean legs and modest curves—a sight he had only  _ just  _ had the pleasure of seeing as she studied in their shared space.

Groaning at the feel of his body reacting to the image of her undressing, he reminded himself that he was in desperate need of a shag, especially if he was starting to imagine Granger, of all people, naked.

o-o-o

Hermione made her way to the Great Hall for dinner, her mind still reeling from the Potions lesson. The scents that had swirled around in that classroom were still lingering in her nose and filling her lungs; her heart had yet to stop thrumming violently in her chest.

At seventeen, she had smelled freshly mown grass, spearmint, fresh parchment and a smell she had associated with Ron's hair.  _ Cedar.  _ But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Ron didn't use spearmint toothpaste, did he? No—he used  _ peppermint _ . But  _ he  _ used spearmint—she had brushed her teeth with it and then argued with him about it later. When he had walked in the other night from Quidditch practice smelling like grass and musk and rain, the scent had made her heady even then. And parchment—admittedly, Ron never was one to actually study or apply himself. But  _ he  _ was. He studied in their common room every night, essays and notes spread out all around him.

How was it possible that, even in sixth year, when she was certain she wanted nothing to do with Malfoy, the Amortentia  _ knew _ ? Did it predict the future? The run-ins with him she had suffered through during school always ended in arguing or her punching him. She knew for certain that she had never felt anything more than disgust for him up until she saw him in Malfoy Manor this past April. He had not been spared a single one of her thoughts.  _ But you've thought about him every day since then. _

o-o-o

It was the first Friday in October when Malfoy first brought Astoria to his dorm room. Outside of Theo and Blaise, she seemed to be the only person willing to spend any length of time with him. They ate dinner together every night and spent time with the other former Slytherins in the eighth-year common room. Astoria was something of a quick learner when it came to potions, and it burned through Hermione’s chest to listen to her giggles as Draco worked with her on her latest assignment. Beyond her bombshell looks, Astoria Greengrass was a saint of a witch—she volunteered her time and Hermione had never heard her speak ill of anyone. Her only downfall, in Hermione’s eyes, was that she was interested in  _ him. _

Sitting in their shared common room, Hermione was dressed in comfy joggers and a long-sleeved shirt with her hair tied back in a messy bun. She had one leg splayed across the back of the couch in the most unladylike manner, a book clutched in her hands. It was nearing midnight when the door opened and Draco led a giggling Greengrass into the Room. "Oh, sorry, Hermione. We didn't think you'd still be awake," Astoria apologized sheepishly.

Hermione frowned at the beautiful lilt in her voice and waved her hand dismissively. "No problem. I'm about done with this chapter, then I'm headed to bed."

Astoria gave a small wave and Draco rolled his eyes as he ushered her into his room. "Have a good night! See you at breakfast!" she chimed.

_ Always the well-manner pureblood.  _ The door closed, and Hermione's polite wave turned into a rude hand gesture she would never give if she were face-to-face with the girl. Finishing the chapter, she finally closed the book and rubbed her weary eyes. A sound stopped her trek back to her room—a moan. Well, more specifically, a beautiful, coal-haired goddess moaning  _ his  _ name.

Hermione stood stock-still and wondered why they hadn't cast a silencing charm. Feeling voyeuristic, she stood there dumbly as the sound of kissing, panting and giggling came muffled through the door. But she couldn't help it…she was mesmerized in a strange, perverted way. The bed creaked a soft rhythm and she could hear his masculine whispers. Her face grew hot at the thought of all the possible things he could be saying at this moment. Why wouldn’t her feet  _ move _ ? It was as though she wore concrete shoes, pressing her into the spot.

It seemed like it went on forever, until she finally heard a final  _ "Oh, Draco!"  _ and then the sound of the two lovers laughing, breathless. Finally, after nearly sprouting roots, she tiptoed into her room.

In her room, Hermione stood with her back to the door for a few moments. Her heart was racing—why, she did not know. She had never outright heard people having sex—her parents were very private, and she had managed to avoid couples shacking up around the castle during her rounds. Her only exposure to the sound had been in the dirty films she had stumbled across in her father's study when she was ten and when she and Ron had been together. Ron had certainly not elicited  _ those  _ noises from her. As much as she had thought of her best friend sexually during their last year at Hogwarts and the following year on the run, Hermione knew in her heart that it wouldn't have worked out in the long term—they weren't compatible enough.

Her throat began to constrict as she thought of the abrupt and inexplicable way she had left things with Ron. Never having done anything to deserve such treatment, Hermione suspected he hated her now. Even more worrisome—Hermione knew she would  _ deserve  _ that treatment. It seemed, lately, that everything she touched turned to rubbish. 

What did it say of her that Draco Malfoy had found love when she couldn’t? 

o-o-o

The following morning, Hermione thought it best to ignore the incident all together—she need not draw attention to the fact that she'd stood outside his door just a little too long.  _ It wouldn’t do to embarrass him, either.  _ She pretended nothing was amiss as she brushed her teeth and Malfoy strutted into the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel to start his shower. Willing her blush not to rise to the surface, she asked, "Do you ever knock?" 

With a roll of his eyes, he retorted, "Do you ever consider locking the door if you didn't want guests?" 

_ Aren’t men supposed to be happier after sex? He’s still a prick.  _ "I could be in here naked," she reminded him. "Or on the loo."

"I'm not deaf, Granger. I can hear through a door. And I can hear you brushing your teeth," he replied, a smirk blooming across his face. "If I hadn't heard the water running into the sink, your feet shifting weight impatiently every few seconds and your toothbrush dragging across your teeth, I wouldn't have walked in. These doors are  _ dreadfully  _ thin."

_ He knows.  _ Convinced of this, Hermione tucked her face down closer to the sink to spit the toothpaste and conceal the blush that burned her cheeks like acid. He stepped into the shower and then extended his arm out to stuff his towel into the towel bar. 

 

Nearly sprinting from the bathroom, she breathed an inhale of gratitude. She could avoid a concentration of his heady scent in their shared kitchenette. With unsteady hands, she made two slices of peanut butter toast, leaving the knife on the edge of the sink in the universal "not-sure-if-I'll-have-another-piece" way.

As she sat down with her toast and tea at the small two-person table, Malfoy strode in to make himself a cup of tea. It seemed the only time she could ever be free of him was when she was locked away in her room. He stopped short at the sink. "Why are you leaving dirty dishes lying around, Granger?" he asked in irritation, dropping her dirty knife onto the table in front of her.

"I wasn’t sure if I wanted another—" Hermione stopped short, a whiff of familiar potion rising to meet her. She narrowed her eyes. "Are you using my lotion?" 

A spoon clattered into the sink, metal on porcelain. "What are you going on about, Granger?"

She stood, drawing to her full height—an impressive foot shorter than he. "I can smell it. You used my lotion. Weren't you the one going on about how I am not to touch your things. And here you are using  _ my  _ toiletries! You  _ hypocrite _ !"

Crossing his arms, Malfoy scoffed. "It simply fell into the basin and the lid fell off. I put it back. Perhaps if you didn't leave your shit to clutter the common surfaces, this wouldn't happen."

She narrowed her eyes once more. "It fell, you say?"

"That's right," he scowled at her.

Hermione stormed into the bathroom, knowing he would follow if nothing more than to keep their row going. "Tell me,  _ Draco  _ dear, how could it fall into the sink if I left it pushed all the way in the back corner? How did it, and nothing else, fall?"

Malfoy took on the countenance of a cornered animal then, stubbornly refusing to let up. "It all fell. And I had to replace it."

"Really, and you replaced it in exactly the same position it had all been in while I brushed my teeth?"

"I didn't use your damn lotion, Granger," he spat angrily, turning to leave. "Why would I want to smell like a common little  _ Mudblood _ ?"

A Hermione’s face fell, he stopped mid-step, his back stiff, and stared straight ahead. Her breath caught and his head slumped forward, instantly remorseful. Malfoy turned, crestfallen despair etched into his features. "I didn't mean that, Granger."

A lump in her throat threatened to choke her and tears stung her eyes. She made to stride past him, but Malfoy reached out and grabbed her arm. Staring at his hand on her, she stopped next to him and refused to meet his eyes. With a great sigh, he loosened his grip, though he didn't let her go completely. "I really didn't mean it. Sometimes old habits creep back in and I speak before my mind can catch up with my mouth."

Hermione nodded, willing herself not to cry. No sooner than she had thought they were making some progress in their cohabiting relationship, and the word still so easily slipped through his teeth, like water through fingers. Malfoy squeezed her arm once more and shook it gently. "Hey, look at me," he softly cajoled, and she did as told. "Please, don't hold this against me. It was a slip of the tongue that came out of nowhere—I haven't even  _ thought  _ the word in months…"

Finally able to bring herself to look him in the eye, she found his grey ones sparkling in earnest, as though he were truly sorry. The words that came out of her mouth next sounded far away, as though spoken by someone else. "Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

She pulled out of his grasp and went out into the main common room, her breakfast forgotten. He would be pissed about that, too, and they would probably have another argument about her sloppiness when she returned. Her face must have relayed what she was feeling, for Theo Nott was on her in mere seconds. "What happened?"

Why was it always Theo? Did no one else, anyone she trusted, ever linger in the common room? She groaned internally. "Nothing. I'm fine," she absently touched the scar on her forearm, and Theo grew angry. 

 

"What did he do?"

Hermione winced at his tone and shook her head. "Nothing. Really. I need to tend to the Abraxans."

o-o-o

"What the fuck did you do?" Theo demanded, slamming his hands down on the table in front of where Draco sat with his head in his hands.

Looking an awful lot like someone had killed his kitten, Draco looked up at his oldest friend. Theo wouldn't care: Draco's sullen moods and pitiful looks didn't work on him as they did on Narcissa or Pansy. "What do you want, Nott?" he questioned, already exhausted from the pending conversation.

"I asked you a question," Theo reminded him, putting his face right in front of the pale wizard’s.

_ What  _ did  _ I do?  _ Why, now, did Draco care so much about Granger’s feelings? He had spat the word at her with wanton abandon for years, so why did it slice through him so forcefully today?  _ Because it hurt her.  _ "Why do you presume  _ I  _ did something?"

Crossing his brawny arms, Theo scoffed. "It's always you. You are a fucking whirlwind of destruction."

"Merlin, if you spoke any sweeter, I’d think you were interested in me, Nott."

Theo slammed his fist on the table again. "Do I look like I’m playing games with you, Malfoy? What the fuck did you do to Hermione? I'm not going to ask you again."

"I called her…" his voice trailed off as he dropped his head back in his hands.

Breath hissing through clenched teeth, Theo growled, "Dammit, Draco. Why the fuck would you go and do something so stupid?"

Draco lifted his head and gave his friend an angrily incredulous look. "It's not like I fucking meant to. It just…slipped out."

_ “’It just slipped out!’”  _ Theo taunted harshly. “Well, now I've got to clean up your fucking mess, Malfoy! You fucking dolt!”

o-o-o

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

Chapter 11:

Hermione made the trek down toward the stables, sniffling softly. At the sound of footfall in the grass behind her, she grabbed her wand and whipped around. "It's just me," Theo replied calmly, his hands up in surrender.

Hating the skittish quality her life had taken, her shoulders slumped as she lowered her wand. "Sorry. I’m always just so jumpy these days."

Theo fell into step beside her and smiled down at her with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Merlin…I have no idea what you could've experienced in your life that would make you uneasy when alone.”

Her laugh was genuine as she agreed. “I don't know if this feeling will ever go away."

Theo draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her into a bumbling side hug as they walked. “You’re a strong, intelligent, and capable witch. Everything is still so fresh, especially since coming back here with the reminders all around. But, Granger, you  _ will  _ persevere. It’s what you lot do best.”

With a wave of her wand, the barn doors opened. Armed with chocolate oat clusters, Hermione clicked her tongue and Artemis and Themis stepped into the sunlight. Theo ran a hand over Themis, who flinched at his touch but remained still. “They’re learning. Slowly, but surely,” Hermione told him proudly as Artemis sniffed around her pockets.

“Not that hellion,” Theo commented, gesturing to where Hades was still standing stubbornly inside. 

Hermione cast her eyes downward and cleared her throat. “Malfoy’s been the only one he responds to obediently. Even Hagrid has trouble sometimes.”

Theo scratched behind Themis’ ear and she leaned her head into him, her feathers ruffling with delight. "He didn't mean it, you know.”

A barb pierced Hermione’s heart as she thought of the nasty way Malfoy’s voice had sounded spitting the slur at her for the first time in years. "If you’re going to defend him, save it."

The wizard ran a hand through his thick, wavy dark hair. "You don’t understand what it meant for us to be brought up by our fathers. That word was tossed around like one might comment on the weather. It shook us, particularly Draco, when we came to the realization that our fathers were despicable human beings—murderers, rapists, thieves. I’m certain he didn’t mean to say it."

"But he  _ did  _ say it and it rolled off his tongue a little too easily," Hermione reminded him, and her scar began to itch where it peeked from under her shirt sleeve.

"I'm not saying what he said was acceptable. Not by any stretch of the imagination would that ever be acceptable. But I do know that man like a brother, and he really is sorry he said it," Theo brushed her curls away from her face and gave her a mournful smile. "I told you before, none of us regard you as anything but the brilliant witch you are—we’d be stupid to."

Hermione hiccupped a laugh and Theo ran his thumbs over her cheeks. His bright blue eyes sparkled as he took in her features. “The men in your life have really been buffoons as of late.”

 

“Ron never did anything,” she murmured. “That was all me.”

With a scoff and a half-smile, he responded, “I find  _ that _ hard to believe.” Dropping his hands, he turned away, leaving Hermione to blink after him as he entered the barn.

 

Letting go of Ron had been heart wrenching, and she had spent the last few weeks recovering from the wound left behind. Though her past haunted her each day, this was one chapter of her life that she was ready to end and suture shut. 

Her body felt light as she followed Theo. A wave of his wand and the mess within was Vanished, the troughs reloaded, and the hay bedding fluffed. Hades’ tail swished back and forth, his nose wrinkled in displeasure. Hermione watched as Theo inch-wormed his way a little closer to Hades with each completed task. 

_ Is he the next chapter?  _ Seeming to share her train of thought, his voice broke the companionable silence. "So, tell me, Granger, is there a particular gentleman you’re hoping to escort you to the All Hallows’ Eve Masquerade?"

Hermione groaned, and Hades huffed, stomping his front foot in consternation. Theo patted his side and the horse nibbled at his shirt, causing him to laugh heartily. The signs advertising a Halloween ball had been plastered all over the school, but she had no desire to attend—the thought of enjoying herself in a room where so many had perished didn’t exactly appeal to her. "I'm not going."

Theo prodded Hades’ side and the Abraxan stomped out of the barn to join his herd as the pair followed. Hermione sat on the fence that now ran along the Forbidden Forest by the barn and Theo came to rest next to her legs, leaning on his forearms. "Every girl loves a chance to get pretty and dance with handsome blokes."

Rolling her eyes and smoothing a hand over her jumper, Hermione asked, “Maybe vapid Slytherin girls. Do I seem like the ‘dress up and get pretty’ type, Nott?” 

"You don’t need potions and perfumes to be beautiful. You’re absolutely stunning as you are,” Theo confessed quietly, refusing to meet her eye as his cheeks pinkened. 

Her heart began to race as she lifted her hand to turn his face toward her. When he finally met her gaze, there was a familiar pain behind his eyes.  _ Daphne _ . Her name had been whispered in the common room on more than one occasion, and Theo’s hollow, unnerved mask always settled itself on his face. These Slytherins were masterful at pretending to be unaffected. Or perhaps it was a trait necessary for the son of a Death Eater? Whatever the cause, he knew the heartache of having loved someone his entire life and of losing them to the War.  _ Just because there’s no body doesn’t mean someone hasn’t died _ . 

The void in Hermione’s heart longed to be filled, however briefly. His skin was smooth beneath her fingertips and warm from the sunshine and the blush that painted his cheeks. Standing upright, he brought his lips to hers in a soft caress. Theo, for all of his brawn and intimidation, was gentle with her as his hand came to brush the curls from her face.

Coming to stand between her knees, Theo leaned one hand on the fence beside her hip and wove the other under her hair to rest on the back of her neck. His touches were feather-light, uncertain as though he were trying to gather courage. He tasted faintly of tea and spice; cloves and nutmeg, sending a warmth through her chest. She held his jaw between her hands, tasting and discovering him for the first time. 

A pair of piercing grey eyes flashed through her mind, and she fought to ignore the strange tug that ripped through her. She focused instead on Theo—he was here, and he was kissing her as though she were the only thing that mattered to him. His fractured pieces were working cohesively with hers to create a tentative mosaic, his lips fitting perfectly with hers.

He pulled back, enough to nuzzle his nose along hers and then let out a huff of a laugh. “How about you come to the ball with me? I'll make it worth your while," he implored, pulling back to give her his most dazzling smile.

Hermione ran her tongue over her bottom lip, looking at him fully. Theo really was handsome, in his own way.  _ But those eyes—they're entirely the wrong color.  _ She willed her mind to shut off. "All right, then," she acquiesced, grinning when his entire face lit up and he dipped his face to hers for a second kiss.

o-o-o

Jealousy seared through him like wildfire, every rational thought and every reasonable emotion were collateral damage along its path. Inexplicable and all-encompassing, Draco was nearly knocked from his broom with the severity of it. As he hovered high above the pitch, his eyes were trained on Theo and Granger at the stables, locked in a tentative kiss.  _ Fuck, why does it hurt so bad? _

_ Theo will have what you can only ever dream of.  _ Draco did not want Granger—of course he didn’t. The thought was preposterous. The pair had been enemies from a time before either knew what war felt like, smelled like, tasted like. She would never spare him a look that was not dripping with latent hatred or pity, would never show an ounce of interest in who he was now—so different than who he was before. Some wounds ran too deep, and he had inflicted countless. 

With a painful recollection, he knew that he had fouled up any chance of ever working or speaking civilly to her, the moment  _ that word  _ left his lips _.  _ A battle was raging within him, one Draco didn't quite understand. Wanting to absolutely wallop Theodore Nott when the bastard went in for a second kiss, he tore his eyes away. Wishing to numb the sting in his heart, he covered the infernal organ with his hand and turned.

A flash of blonde caught his eye and he looked down to see Luna Lovegood mounting a broomstick. He would have preferred to be alone, particularly as his emotions and mood shifted ever darker with each passing moment. But there was something about Lovegood, something undeniably soothing and hard to reject, no matter how he longed to do so. 

Draco turned downward and met her halfway, praying to whatever deity there was that she would not comment on his mood, his voyeurism, or the scene unfolding by the Abraxans’ shelter. The airy little imp floated, waif-like, until she met him with a wide smile. “Hello, Draco.”

“Lovegood,” his voice was clipped, and he hoped she would take the hint and leave. 

Her smile never wavered when she remarked, “You weren’t at lunch.” 

“I haven’t been hungry.”

Her line of sight fell over his shoulder and she tilted her head. “Curious. Hermione and Theo appear to be kissing.”

Draco’s hands gripped the broom handle a little tighter. “Is that so?” he deadpanned, hoping he seemed unaffected.

No such luck. Fate was a cruel bitch. “And you don’t appear to be too thrilled,” her eyes focused on his and he got the chills, wondering if all of that bending nonsense she practiced allowed her to read minds. “I know what you said to her. And I suspect you did not mean it.”

Her gaze widened, and she smiled, blasting past him at break-neck speed. Her wake rippled the air around him and he rocked in place. “What the fuck, Lovegood?”

Picking up his pace, Draco raced after her. “Blibbering humdingers!” her shrill excitement tore through the sky as she flew toward the trees of the Forbidden Forest. 

They whizzed well over Theo and Granger’s heads, Draco refusing to look down as the pair scanned the skies above. “Lovegood, where are—”

His question was cut short when Lovegood touched down atop a canopy of trees, blowing into a gadget around her neck that made a noise like a dying mermaid. Clapping his hands over his ears, Draco paused next to her and scanned the limbs for any sign of life. She leaned down and attempted to reach her hand out toward a tangled cluster of twigs and golden thread. With an exasperated sigh, Lovegood swung her leg over the side of her broom and Draco’s hand shot out to catch her when she fell back. 

A hearty laugh peeled through the air and she looked at him, upside down and dangling precariously from her broom. “Honestly, Draco. Have you never hunted humdingers?”

Staring at her with incredulity, his lips parted. The girl had been strange before the War—he vaguely remembered them calling her ‘Loony Lovegood.’ Hell,  _ he  _ had probably started the nickname, if he were honest. A flicker of delight in her eyes, a sparkle that had been dulled since their return to Hogwarts, made him stop his derisive comment before it spilled forth. Instead, Draco closed his mouth and shook his head slowly. “Not recently.”

Lovegood rolled her eyes and flopped back away from him with a giggle. “You have to—” she wiggled dangerously on the broom as she reached her hand out. 

“What?” he questioned, placing a hand on her broom to steady her, consumed with worry that she may fall as she sat upright.

“They were just here and then— _ oh!”  _ Understanding reached her eyes as a frown spread across her face. “They can sense Dark Magic…even just a trace,” Lovegood remarked, righting herself on the broom.

Embarrassment and shame flooded Draco. Born into Darkness, he knew he would never fully be Light. But to have someone as pure and innocent as Luna Lovegood confirm it by way of a non-existent creature’s rapid departure, there was no way to deny it. “I’m sorry, Love—”

Lovegood placed her hand over his arm, right over where the Mark rested and shook her head. “No matter. They’ll come back and now I know where their nest is.”

Draco glanced skeptically at the ball of twigs and gulped, nodding his head. “I’m sure Longbottom could assist you in catching one of the little buggers.”

“Neville  _ is  _ quite capable of handling his humdinger,” Luna replied and, had the shame not radiated so violently through him, Draco would have laughed at the unintentional innuendo. “Why don’t we head back to the pitch? I can bat away bludgers if you would like to get the Quaffles.”

The thought of Luna Lovegood piddling around with Quidditch balls frightened Draco nearly as much as the thought of a Muggle playing, but she had a way about her that put him at ease. She staunchly refused to allow him to withdraw into himself for any length of time. 

As they flew over Granger and Theodore, who were now gazing sickeningly into each other’s faces and laughing idiotically, Draco made a harsh clicking with his tongue and sent a prodding spell at Hades’ rear end. Thundering footsteps sounded across the ground and the sound of the Abraxan’s wings spreading brought a tiny smile to Draco’s face. Behind him, he could hear Theo and Granger’s exasperated shouts as they called for the horse to return. Theo’s,  _ “Fuck you, mate!”  _ played like a symphony to his ears.

o-o-o

Hermione refused to speak to Malfoy in the week that followed their spat. She knew in her heart that he hadn't meant to say that word to her, and she believed Theo when he said that he hadn't really bought into the Pureblood mentality in years. But the casual way it had slipped out of his mouth continued to irk her. She wished it wouldn't get under her skin so much, but she wanted more out of him. She had come to expect more from him in terms of his bigoted ways.

Completely opposite of his friend, Theo had been a surprising companion to her. Following their kiss by the barn, he had become the perfect pureblood suitor. It did not take long to realize exactly how lazy Ron’s pursuit of a relationship had been. He had relied on their friendship to ease them into a courtship, never showing a real effort. Theo was the complete opposite—he was attentive, listened to her with rapt enthusiasm, assisted her when he could. He was sweet and kind, interesting and funny. 

Still, Hermione had a hollow depth in her heart that his consideration couldn’t quite fill.

This thought plagued her, a frown turning her lips downward, as she sat with Malfoy in their shared common room. He had spread their final project out over the long desk and they sat in silence as they worked. The confusion that flowed within her had her feeling particularly irritated. 

As her mood soured, she longed for time alone. Particularly given that her partner had a penchant for irritating her. He grouped the ingredients in separate areas according to substance—insect, solvent, powder, herbs. Who did that? Why couldn’t he just put them in sequential order of when they would be needed?

Hermione’s petulance spread the longer she watched Malfoy work. She felt like a good row and she knew the blond wizard sitting crossly at her side wouldn't let her down—he always rose to the occasion. "I don't understand why I should trust you to make a potion unknown to wizarding kind—you organize the potions workbench like a first year."

Malfoy gave her a hateful stare as he dumped lacewing flies into the cauldron. "Granger, I know what I'm doing. I’ve told you already, I’m not your two idiotic friends."

"Don’t you  _ dare  _ call them idiotic. They gave everything last year to defeat the likes of you!" It was a low blow, even she knew it.

His face screwed up in anger and he rose from the cauldron. "How can you fucking say that to me? I have put forth every effort this year to show the world that I am not my father."

"Yes, and calling me a Mudblood  _ was  _ a nice touch," she crossed her arms ruefully, lashing at him with an unnecessarily sharp tongue.

The anger faded a bit as hurt colored his features. "I apologized for that," he whispered forcefully.

"Yes. I'm sure you were terribly sorry,” she spat back, her hair frizzing around her face as she grew more and more fiery. “Sorry that I heard you," 

"I am!" he shoved the chair into the table harshly, making it collide with a loud slam.

Hermione backed away from him then, never having seen him angry enough to slam or break things. Silently, she wondered if he would harm her and took another involuntary step back. Malfoy noticed her retreating and sulked, clearly upset that she would feel such a way. "Do you think I'm going to hurt you?"

She tried her best to slide on a mask of indifference, one not unlike that the blond routinely wore and leaned casually against the desk. Her heart was still beating wildly. "Of course not…You said yourself, you couldn't kill anyone."

"Why are you being like this?" he demanded, trying to steady his hands as they balled up at his sides.

"Me? You call me a Mudblood and now you can't take it when I hand your arse back to you?" she shrieked.

He put his hands up, glancing at their common room door. "Can you please quiet down? Everyone else doesn't need to know what we are arguing about."

Taking a step toward her, Malfoy dropped his hands limply to his sides, anguish stealing over him. Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and leaned against the desk behind her. "You want me to quiet down?  _ Quiet down?  _ What about the loud, vulgar sexcapades I can hear coming from your dorm  _ every  _ bloody night? You don't stay  _ quiet! _ "

"A silencing charm goes both ways, Granger. If you could hear us, you should have cast it over the outside of the door. Or do you enjoy listening?" he challenged, the cruel lilt in his voice like a dagger to her self-assurance.

Averting her eyes, she retorted, "I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy." 

"Oh, I think you do, Granger,” he walked closer to her, seething. “You think I haven't heard the floorboards creak outside of my door? The soft click of your door locking once I've finished?" 

She had been caught.  _ He knows.  _ "Don't be disgusting," she hissed.

"Or perhaps," Malfoy put his hands on the table on either side of her hips and got his face close enough to Hermione’s that she could smell the spearmint on his breath. "You wish you were the one pressed into my mattress, writhing beneath me in ecstasy? Calling my name?" his whisper was pure venom.

She shoved him away with both, feeling his pelvis brush against her own hips as she rose. "Don't be crass, Malfoy."

"It's not crass if it's true, Granger. You think I haven't seen you eye-fuck me from across the common room?" he smirked evilly as her cheeks reddened.

"You are such an incorrigible pig! I don't have to sit here and listen to this!" and with that she stormed away from the argument she’d began to lick her wounds.

o-o-o

Draco sprawled himself across one of the couches in the Wulfric common room, reading his Ancient Runes text. Theo sat with Granger at the desk in front of the window and the two were whispering so softly, Draco had a hard time eavesdropping. Granger let out a feminine giggle and he felt his heart clench painfully. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh; he  _ should  _ be the one to make her laugh.  _ You have no right to even think such a thing, you cowardly prick.  _ And  _ when  _ had he started thinking of Granger in such a manner?

"I'll pick you up from your room at eight, then?" he heard Theo say as the dark-haired wizard rose from the desk, grabbing his bag and robes.

Granger nodded and let out a quiet, "I can't wait!"

Catching Draco's eye, Theo winked and grinned broadly as he turned to go into his own room. Draco watched as Granger stared after Theo, a ridiculous smile playing on her lips. His heart tugged unpleasantly. She was looking forward to going wherever it was they were going.  _ She’s looking forward to a date with Nott.  _ The thought made Draco's stomach turn harshly. 

For a week, he had watched the couple interact with a grotesque affection. It was becoming far too much for him to handle any longer. Draco shoved off of the couch and let himself into Nott's room without a knock. "Sure, Malfoy, you can barge in at any time, I don't mind,” Theo drawled, not bothering to turn from where he sat on the bed.

Draco raised his wand and cast a silencing charm over the room before he pressed the tip firmly into Nott's neck. "What the fuck are you doing? Gallivanting about with Granger?" he said through clenched teeth.

Theo raised his chin defiantly, refusing to be intimidated. "What the fuck concern is it of yours?"

Draco wrinkled his brow. "What about Daphne?"

Theo scoffed. "What  _ about  _ Daphne?  _ She  _ left  _ me,”  _ he reminded his friend, the emptiness returning to his eyes at the statement. “Hermione is beautiful and intelligent and deserves someone to show her that she is worth it. I want to know her better, because she is a bird worth knowing."

Draco clenched his jaw tightly. "And when Daphne finally comes to her senses?"

Theo pushed Draco’s wand away from his throat finally. "Hermione is just as fucked up as the rest of us and she needs someone to talk to. Everyone else has someone—even  _ you  _ have Astoria. But she's alone. And I'm…alone. Being with her makes me feel good—I can’t live my life waiting for Daphne to realize that we belong together!"

Stepping back from Theo, Draco pursed his lips and tried to deny the horrid seizing of his heart.  _ Theo is going to court Granger.  _ A union forged between two people on the rebound. With a great effort, Draco reminded himself once more that he had no claim to the witch. Turning on his heel, he grabbed a glass mug from the desk. It smashed against the wall and Draco let out a frustrated yell before wrenching the door open and storming out. The door slammed with such a force, the paintings on the wall in the common room shook.

Granger peered up at him from the desk where she was still working on her Arithmancy homework. He was unable to hide the hurt and agitation he felt as he thundered into their common room. Leaning on the back of the couch for support, Draco nursed the crushing, throbbing feeling in his heart. He was being completely irrational. Granger wanted nothing to do with his arrogant, bigoted narcissism.

_ You could have told her, could have treated her like a human being.  _ Growing up in the Malfoy household, the son of a cold-hearted Dark wizard hadn’t been conducive to communication. Pansy had learned to pry information from him without completely turning him away. Theo was the only person he truly felt comfortable speaking with now that Pansy was dead, and he couldn't very well go in there and lay his heart out for Theo to hear.  _ I want to court your witch. _

The door opened behind Draco and Granger's small, unsure footsteps padded across the floor. She cleared her throat expectantly and he was forced to turn and look at her. "Are you…okay?" Granger inquired, concern evident on her face.

Draco stared at her for a long moment, scenes of him on his knees begging her not to go with Nott playing out dramatically in his mind. Pride was an egregious thing. He shrugged stiffly, refusing to showcase his bluff. "I'm fine." 

Granger didn't look convinced but asked nothing more of his sullen mood—she was growing accustomed to his shit-head attitude. Draco pushed past her and went into their kitchenette, retrieving a pint of chocolate ice cream. Sweets always helped to calm him. Granger, clearly not one to pick up on social cues, followed and sat at the table as he made himself a small bowl of the creamy dessert. Draco knew he needed to change his demeanor if he ever wanted her to see him as anything more than an angsty bastard.

Glancing over his shoulder, their eyes met briefly and his knees went weak as she brought her lip between her teeth. He turned around and stared at the ice cream. "Would you like some?"

"Oh—sure," she seemed surprised by his subtly kind gesture.  _ She’s surprised that you’d offer her a treat. Pathetic. _

As he scooped the rest of the ice cream into a second bowl, the wizard thought about what he could possibly say to make up for his atrocious behavior the last couple of weeks. He had called her a filthy slur, accused her of being a pervert (though Draco  _ knew  _ he was right about her listening in more than once), and insinuated that she'd rather he fuck her than Astoria. All while yelling and being a massive arsehole.  _ Splendid. _

Draco sighed and turned around to face her once more, sliding into the chair opposite her and setting her dish in front of her. He took a bite and relished the smooth taste as he mulled over an apology in his mind.  _ What can I say to her that doesn't sound empty?  _ He was pitiful when it came to apologizing, never having felt it necessary or appropriate to apologize in the past. He had donated some of his own inheritance as a form of silent apology when his sentence had been reduced and he had thanked Potter for testifying on his behalf. But saying outright that he was sorry for his actions? Draco couldn’t remember a time when he had ever said those words to anyone in his life.

His eyes flickered up from the table, a frown etched across his face, and found Granger watching him as a gazelle might watch a lion. His heart beat so rapidly in its cage, he silently wondered if she could hear its thumps from where she sat. Willing himself not to look back down at the table and instead to stare straight into her eyes, he managed to stutter, "Granger…I just—I just want to apologize. For everything."

Draco hoped that the earnest remorse that colored his tone would be good enough for her. Surely, Granger had to know how difficult it was for him to admit he was wrong—he had steadfastly refused to give her the satisfaction in the past. Her eyes searched his face for a long while, seeking reassurance. He was nearly vibrating with the effort to hold her fiery gaze. Slowly, a smile spread across her face and she nodded. "Thank you. For apologizing and not trying to lay blame on your past this time."

Draco frowned at her remark, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to his mouth. "You have to understand that my past has shaped me and it's forcing me to change who I am…I'm not that twelve-year-old little boy anymore, Granger. I've seen too much, done too much to go back."

Her returning smile was warm as she reached across the table to touch his arm. "I know, Malfoy. I know…Theo's been trying to make me understand. But you have to understand that I'm not the twelve-year-old bucktoothed, bookworm  _ I  _ was either. I fought a war to defeat people you once associated with, however reluctantly. For the last seven years, I  _ hated  _ you. Or, at least, who I thought you were."

"No. You hated me. I was the person you thought I was—cold, callous, bigoted, loathsome."

"Don't forget arrogant," she added, teasing him.

Draco felt lighter than he had in months when he chuckled. "Well…I'm still arrogant." 

"You can say that again," she muttered, rising from her seat. 

He stood as well and stared at her back and her bouncing curls as she scrubbed her dish. "Why did you follow me in here? I've been awful to you for…well, the whole school year, really."

Granger turned around her large doe eyes sparkling in earnest. "Because you were upset. And Healer Little told us it’s not healthy to bottle it all up. I figured I could come in here and you yell and slam the door in my face. I'm pleasantly surprised that you were instead civil. Though, I never would have pegged you for a chocolate man."

"Oh, really? And why's that?" he asked as he stepped around her to the sink.

"You seem much more like a vanilla kind of bloke," she said, and the bowl fell into the sink with a clatter.

Vanilla, rain, parchment. Those scents ran through his head multiple times a day. "I actually have a generalized sweet tooth."

"You learn something new every day," she was her reply before she suddenly became quiet.

When he turned around, it was clear she wanted to say something, wringing her hands and worrying her lip once more. His interest was piqued. "Something wrong, Granger?"

She took a moment, perhaps to gather her own courage, seemingly uncertain of how best to communicate with him, too. "Well…I—I wanted to thank you…"

_ Thank me?  _ Besides splitting the most expensive ice cream available by owl, he had never done anything for her. "For?" he prompted.

"That night…in the rain…" Granger looked at her hands clasped in front of her, embarrassed by her moment of weakness.

Were they finally going to talk about that night? Draco had avoided speaking of it, as though saying the words aloud would erase the act and memories of it. "You needed someone to do it," he shrugged, ignoring the memory of how she felt in his arms.

Granger shook her head sadly and looked back up to his face. He became aware of how close they were standing, her scent hanging between them. "Everyone else just tells me to breathe or just pats me on the back until an episode subsides. No one has ever tried to get me to face my triggers before. And you did."

Draco hoped to convey a deeper meaning when he said, "The War left us all fucked up, Hermione. I happened to be there. You needed to face your demons and no one should have to do it alone."

"Thank you for bringing me into the rain. And for…after," she was whispering so softly, he struggled to catch her words.

_ She thinks about the embrace as well. She thinks about you, you useless gad _ . His heart fluttered. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "Well, thank you for the treat. I have to be going. I've got a dinner thing tomorrow and Ginny wants to pick out exactly what I'm going to wear."

She gave him a long-suffering roll of the eyes and a final small smile as she left. Draco felt a surge of jealousy. Granger was going to get all dolled up to go to dinner with his best friend. A best friend he currently felt like murdering with his bare hands.

o-o-o

 

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

Hermione hadn't spent much time with Ginny since the school year began. Shame over her abandonment of Ron kept her tail tucked firmly between her legs, though Ginny showed no hard feelings toward her. Not to mention, with her caring for the Abraxans, apprenticing to Hagrid when needed, brewing the CCD potion, rounds with Malfoy and now seeing Theo more than casually, she had very little time to spend with friends. Ginny had Quidditch practice more often than not, and once or twice Hermione had gone to watch, bringing papers to grade.

When she met the redhead and Luna in the corridor outside of the Fat Lady's portrait, Hermione was promptly escorted into the Gryffindor girls' dorms. She'd had forgotten some of the more annoying nuances of sharing a room with others as she took in the laundry—both clean and dirty, magazines, and random items scattered about. Malfoy had once gotten on her about leaving her belongings in their shared spaces. Wondering what he would say about the dastardly mess in here, she sniggered.

"He's got you all giggly, doesn't he?" Ginny questioned suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows.

Malfoy? Hermione's eyes snapped to Ginny, who was doing a crude imitation of Theo Nott and pretending to sweep Luna around the dorm. "Come, my little Muggle-born, to my castle in the mountains, where you can ogle my gorgeous Keeper's body and I will worship you thoroughly."

Theo. Of course, she was talking about Theo. Hermione collapsed onto Ginny's bed, trying to cover her betraying thoughts with a laugh. "Theo is quite charming," Luna offered airily, twirling away from Ginny's arms.

"A definite upgrade from Ron," Ginny agreed, opening her trunk with a wave of her wand.

Hermione's eyes widened, and Ginny waved her hand. "Look—I love my brother. But let's not pretend like that relationship would have succeeded. Ron is lazy and as daft as they come. And Theodore Nott is—"

"Wonderful?" Luna supplied, looking between the two witches.

"I was going to say delicious, but you know. Semantics," Ginny retorted, waving her hand dismissively.

Theo had his finer points—handsome, studious, sweet. So why did the word delicious bring to mind a certain blond-haired, broody, and inherently icy wizard? She thought back to his kindness in their kitchenette. Never had Malfoy been so cordial with her. His civility showed a new dimension to the ever-widening chasm of secrets he guarded so carefully. Waving her hand in front of the brunette's face, Ginny raised a brow. "I know you're excited for tonight, but can we focus on the matter at hand? How to make Theodore Nott fall to his knees in rapturous delight at the mere sight of you."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione flopped back on the bed with an exaggerated groan. "What's wrong with my own clothing?"

"You mean besides the fact that you dress like a Muggle librarian?" Ginny countered, retrieving various articles of clothing from her trunk.

"I do not! And Theo's already told me that he thinks I'm beautiful, even without the cosmetics and glamour charms," she tried, her face flushing at the mentioning of Theo's sweet sentiment.

Ginny gave her a look of incredulity and her lips twitched as though she wanted to laugh. "Look…I know you and my brother had some weird thing," she pretended to shudder, "but Theo Nott is part of the pureblood elite. Raised damn near as Malfoy was—all highbrow society and ridiculously cavernous bank vaults. I guarantee he will wear something expensive and dashing—don't you want to match?"

Luna lifted a strapless shirt and eyed it with confusion. "I think Theo would prefer Hermione wear something…normal."

"Thank you, Luna," Hermione laughed, shying away from the glare Ginny sent her way. "What about Neville? How are you and he getting along these days?"

Ginny's laugh roared through the otherwise empty dorm. "You mean besides spending all of her time teaching him the intricacies of tantric sex and the benefits of yoga?"

Hermione blushed deeply, recalling the strange look she had seen cross Malfoy's face as she stretched and shifted beside him during Luna's sunrise lesson. Ginny's grin grew positively evil. "Thinking about getting Luna to teach you a thing or two? Big ol' burly Theo will be folding you in half in no time!"

Luna smiled dreamily. "Neville's quite flexible already and we've only been working on his form for a couple of months now. He's recruited Draco to help him combine some aphrodisiacal herbs in a potion in exchange for helping him grow your potion's plants in the greenhouse."

Ginny sighed dramatically, staring dreamily into the distance. "What I wouldn't pay to have a man who could withstand sex potions brewed by Draco Malfoy…or just one go with Draco Malfoy."

"What does that mean?" Hermione questioned, her heart racing at the reminder of her Head partner.

"'Mione, what about this?" Ginny held up a gold dress that had no straps and sparkled as it hit the light. On the shorter redhead, it would have been short. On her? It would have been little more than a shirt. Hermione shook her head and the redhead frowned—this was clearly her favorite choice. "I just mean that he's obviously the most talented potioneer at Hogwarts. Luna has told me what Neville is capable of, provided he drinks that potion. Can you imagine? All of Malfoy's pent up anger and aggression."

Ginny had always been the most forward of the Gryffindor girls, but the cavalier way she spoke of sex with Malfoy made Hermione uneasy. A feeling within her—one that positively reeked of possessiveness—caused her mood to sour at the mere mention. Ginny paid her mood swing no mind, tossing clothing around back trunk before brandishing a dark blue lacy dress that managed to be even shorter than the last. "Gin, do you have anything that, perhaps, won't show my cheeks?"

Ginny's lips plumped in a pout as Luna rifled through the jewelry on the nightstand. Known for her penchant for mood rings and flashy barrettes, Hermione dreaded whatever gaudy piece Luna retrieved. Growing peeved at the dismissal of her two best dresses, Ginny pulled out a black pencil skirt, shoving it in Hermione's direction. "I bought this when we were all getting interviewed. And here, wear it with this."

A lacy red tank top with a built-in brassiere. The shorter witch was so much more blessed in the chest area, causing Hermione to frown. "Just use a shrinking charm," Ginny whispered conspiratorially before she draped herself across the bed as well, her belongings forgotten on the floor around the trunk.

"I have a cardigan I can wear over top. Thank you," Hermione commented as she folded the clothing in her lap so as to hide the shirt.

"Don't you dare!" Ginny shrieked, smacking her arm.

Luna found a normal sterling silver necklace with a delicate imitation ruby on it. "She's right you know, you shouldn't be afraid to be sexy, Hermione. I could teach you some moves—"

Hermione's eyes grew wide and she put a hand up. "Please. I'll wear it. Just stop talking about sex. I'm not having sex with Theodore Nott."

"Not yet," Ginny rolled her eyes, grinning a lopsided grin that was entirely too much like her brother's.

"Not if Draco has anything to do with it," Luna corrected Ginny, opening a copy of Witch Weekly upside down.

Ginny and Hermione both sat bolt upright, nearly knocking heads in their haste. "What the hell does that mean?" Ginny inquired aloud while Hermione's heart beat out the same question within her.

"Draco likes Hermione," Luna informed them with a shrug. "He was not too happy to see you kissing by the stables."

"How do you know this?" Hermione demanded as Ginny absolutely lost her shit.

"You've already been snogging Theodore Nott?!" Ginny wailed, her eyes wide. "I knew he had asked you out and carried your bag in the corridors. You've been in here for half an hour, and you haven't said anything? And now Draco Malfoy is jealous? Merlin's fucking beard, Hermione, have you got the golden snitch, or what?"

Hermione bristled at her friend's crude implications and looked to Luna expectantly. "Luna, what are you talking about?"

"I went hunting humdingers with him—"

"Hunting what?" Ginny interluded.

"—and he was shaking at the sight of you with Theo."

Hermione felt the twang of sadness she'd been waiting for the entire time she'd been in Gryffindor Tower. She felt the guilt wash over her. "He's never said anything to me. I've had one decent moment with him."

"What moment? What happened?" Ginny asked, her mood still captious as she fished for information.

"He was…nice. Apologized to me," she told them, worrying her lip as her two friends stared back at her.

"Of course, he did," Luna said slowly. "He's trying to make it right, so you won't hate him."

Gritting her teeth, Ginny shook her head. "Fucking Malfoy. If his jealousy fucks up your chance with Theo, I swear, I will hex the ferret myself. He's never been anything but awful. Why now?"

Hermione wished for nothing more than to escape to her own dorm then, a desperate need to be alone overwhelming her senses. Theo was trying to take things slow with her, using every moment to prove that she could be happy again. He was perfect for her. But Luna's words echoed in her mind, a cold sweat dampening her brow.

Intuitively, Luna asked, "Are you okay, Hermione?"

"Yeah…I guess I'm just nervous about tomorrow night is all." Liar.

She recalled the hurt in Malfoy's eyes when he had stormed out of Theo's room. Inexplicable to her before, the realization of why he had looked so forlorn infuriated her. Malfoy had never been decent to her until that day and he had the audacity to be dismayed when an eligible and worthy wizard—his best friend, no less—showed interest. Fuck Draco Malfoy.

o-o-o

Hermione pulled a black blazer over the tank top just as Theo knocked lightly at her door. She took one last look in the mirror—she had allowed Ginny to straighten her hair for the occasion, which had taken two hours of tricky wand work and an entire tub of Sleakeazy's. It fell to the middle of her back in a silky curtain and she was undecided on whether or not she enjoyed it. After the hassle with her hair, Hermione had staunchly refused a full face of makeup, opting instead for light lipstick and mascara only.

Her heart was pounding when she gave herself a final once over in the mirror before slowly walking to the door. She had not been on a technical "first date" with someone new since Viktor and she had no idea how she should act or where to put her hands. Opening the door, she was pleased to find an equally nerved Theo. He wore a dark royal blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes, paired with simple black trousers. His dark coffee locks were brushed ever so precisely, not the usual messy look he sported. He had black robes on over his clothing and he shoved his hands into the pockets as he caught sight of her. "Aw, you didn't have to get all dolled up for me, love," he teased, tugging a strand of her newly straightened hair.

She was suddenly feeling self-conscious about her decision to change her appearance. Touching her softened tresses, she worried, "Ginny did it…you don't like it?"

"Like it? Hell, I love it. You look divine, Hermione," he replied with a wide grin, offering his arm to her.

When Theo stepped out of the doorway, Hermione realized that Malfoy was sitting in the Head Common Room, his feet up on the coffee table, reading his Potions text. His eyes flickered up toward her and his mouth parted slightly, his eyes wide. A light blush spread across his cheeks and Hermione felt the surge of guilt and annoyance once more at the sight. His attention was quickly diverted back to the text in front of him and it only took a second for her to realize his eyes weren't moving.

Theo seemed oblivious to his best friend's inner turmoil. "No need to wait up, Malfoy."

"We'll be back in time for me to stir the potion at midnight," she mentioned, and Malfoy's jaw clicked as he gave a simple nod of acknowledgment.

Hermione was silent as they walked along the path to Hogsmeade. The air was crisp and the leaves were just beginning to change, illuminated brightly in the moonlight. "I've always loved autumn," Theo mentioned, following her line of sight.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "It's beautiful how even in death, nature can provide a magical landscape."

He shared her sentiments exactly and the thought made her smile. Theo lifted her hand and kissed along her knuckles before he tucked it delicately into his elbow. "I'm glad you're giving me a chance. I know Gryffs and Snakes are supposed to be mortal enemies, and all."

Hermione squeezed his bicep where she held onto it, trying to reassure him with the gesture. "So much has happened to us all. Those types of rivalries just seem so asinine now."

Upon arriving at a small restaurant near the entry to Hogsmeade, Hermione noticed there was no one else around. "I asked if we could have the place to ourselves for an hour. I figured you didn't care much for reporters snapping pictures of the Golden Girl out on a date and making it something it's not in order to sell copies of the Prophet or Witch Weekly," Theo told her, walking toward the back corner away from the windows.

The reporters had been the sole reason for Hermione keeping out of the public eye and she felt grateful for her companion's kind offering. "I don't even want to know what it cost you to rent the entire restaurant out for an hour."

Theo shrugged as though it were trivial. "Money talks. But what the hell else am I going to spend it on, if not beautiful witches?"

Hermione felt her cheeks go rosy and Theo laughed as he slid her chair out for her. "Still so surprised by compliments."

"I'm not used to wizards being so forward," she explained.

When Theo removed his robes and rolled his sleeves back, Hermione caught sight of the hundreds of circular scars littering his forearms. In some ways, more brutal than Malfoy's Mark. "If you look at Malfoy's chest, you'll see a small cluster of circular scars. If you look at mine, you'll see them peppering my entire body…my mother died when I was born and my father blamed me."

Hermione had seen his scars that group session. But seeing them by the flickering light of a candle made them that much more sinister. We've all got scars…inside and out. Her mind wandered to the night Malfoy had held her in the rain. How safe she had felt as she had come out of her trauma, despite her prior aversion to the wizard.

Theo was looking at her, his head tilted to the side. "I can almost hear you thinking. What's on your mind?"

She worried her lip between her teeth, feeling wretched for thinking of another wizard while she stared at his best friend on their date. "It's nothing."

Theo leaned back in his chair and raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I don't believe that for a moment. Out with it."

"It's Malfoy. We've had some pretty significant rows lately…but yesterday, he was kind. He apologized—a legitimate apology. I don't know what to make of it."

Theo's lips turned into a slight pout as he mulled over her words. "Draco is a decent man, with a good heart. Buried deep in that abrasive exterior."

"Arctic tundra exterior," Hermione muttered and Theo let out a barking laugh.

"I suppose you would think that—you've never had the chance to know him as anything other than the poncy little prat he portrayed in public."

"I honestly have no idea what to think. With you, it's easy. You were never cruel and you've been amazing since we've been back. With him—it's like…I'm constantly on pins and needles, waiting for the other shoe to drop every moment."

Theo opened his mouth to respond just as the waiter brought their wine to the table and took their dinner orders. "And what's with Astoria Greengrass?" Hermione demanded once they were alone once more.

"What about her?" Theo wrinkled his brow at her tone.

"Malfoy brings her into his room every night, but they don't appear to be courting," she fixed her gaze on where her hands fidgeted with a napkin on the table.

Theo studied her for a long moment. "Does it bother you when he brings Astoria to his room?" he questioned, taking a sip of his wine.

He didn't sound jealous or revolted, simply curious. It was as though he had someone else on his mind as well and was trying to quell his own guilt by diving into her mind. Daphne. She was reminded of just how similar Theo and she were. "Of course not. He's a grown man and he can sleep with whomever he wishes," she lied, looking away from him to gaze over at the wait staff as they whispered behind their hands.

Theo sighed and reasoned with her. "Their relationship is…an odd one—let's just put it that way. There is no love, only lust. But Draco is lonely, just like the rest of us. And he has no desire to put on airs and pretend to be something that they aren't."

"Is that what we are doing here?" Hermione questioned, finally matching his gaze.

"I just want to get to know you better. Maybe kiss on occasion," he replied cheekily, a half-smile making Hermione's stomach flop.

"Did he love Pansy?" she couldn't stop herself from asking, a bad case of word vomit coming on—she was really an arsehole, speaking of another man on a date.

He nodded slowly, sadly recalling his deceased friend. "Yes, I believe he did. Not fall-head-over-heels, can't-live-without-her, butterflies-in-tummy type of love. I don't believe he's had the pleasure of discovering that type of love yet. But, yes, I do believe he loved Pansy in his own way. They were friends since infanthood. We all were."

"You never think about the defeated side losing people they love," she said quietly, staring into her glass of wine.

"Because you couldn't see past the evil. We were just like anyone else."

Hermione was grateful for the food being brought to the table—her first date in years and she had ruined it by bringing the mood down tenfold. "So, tell me, Granger, what is one thing you really want to accomplish before this year is out?" Theo asked as he took a bite.

Theo had a caring and genuine way, compassion that eased her tension. Feeling mollified by his trustworthy demeanor, Hermione told him the truth. "I want to go home."

He looked surprised. "Home?"

"Back to my parents' house," she clarified. "I haven't been back there in over a year."

"Why's that?" his scooted his chair closer to where she sat, concern coloring his features.

With a thick gulp, she leaned into him as he draped an arm over the back of her chair. "They aren't there anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied, his arm reaching around to hug her to himself.

"They aren't dead," she whispered as he pushed his food away. "I erased their memories. And I haven't got the courage to go to Australia to try and bring them back."

Theo was silent for a moment, and she felt him nod his understanding where his cheek rested against the top of her head. "You should go back to the house; try and get some closure. Or to gather the courage to reverse the memory charm."

Remaining still in his embrace, she traced a stitch in the tablecloth. "I've thought about going during holidays."

Theo was silent for the appropriate length of time before changed the subject without segue and Hermione was grateful. He was one of the few people who didn't push her, a notion that normally infuriated her. Malfoy would have pushed me. To help me heal. Not for the first time, Hermione wondered how two people who were so opposite could possibly be best friends.

o-o-o

A/N: Thank you to everyone who already showed this story some love! I really appreciate it all! I would love to hear your thoughts! I did not have a beta for this chapter, so all errors are my own!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

Draco was draped over the couch in the Heads’ common, suffering through an absolutely cumbersome passage in the Potions text. His eyes darted to the grandfather clock across the room after every paragraph, the hour first stretching into the second. He’s probably grabbing at her with his fucking paws. Trying not to picture Theo molesting Granger, he blinked away the image of her dressed for the date. She had looked radiant, but her hair had been all wrong and the clothing was far too revealing for her. It was not who Granger was and it infuriated him that she should change for Theodore.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw colors behind his eyelids. The door to the common room opened and he sat upright quickly, the lights still dancing in his vision. “Oh, it’s just you,” he bit out, glaring at Blaise as he strode into the room like he owned the place.

“Eagerly awaiting the return of Theo and your witch?” Blaise questioned, standing right next to the couch where Draco was swinging his legs over.

His nose turned up in disgust. “Granger is hardly my witch,” he chided, running a hand through his hair as his heart began hammering. “I don’t know where you come up with such whimsical ideals, Zabini.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and gave a derisive snort. “Please. If the rest of us weren’t present at Lovegood’s yoga group, you would have pounced on her in two seconds flat.”

Draco glowered up at his friend, whose smirk grew evilly into a full grin. “Is there a reason you stormed into here so intrusively? Or are you only here to accuse me of such baseless desires?”

The Italian plucked a phial from the pocket of his robes and wiggled it between his thumb and forefinger, an eyebrow raised in his direction. “This, my friend, is why I came.”

Draco took the glass phial from him and examined the liquid within, holding it up to the light to examine its rich indigo color. “What is it?”

“They call it Morpheus,” he responded, waving Draco up to follow him into the Wulfric common room. “Seamus has connections.”

“Okay. But what is it?” Draco questioned again, watching as Blaise flopped onto the armchair near where Seamus was sprawled out on a loveseat.

“You remember when Tracey Davis brought those strange muggle cigarettes in fifth year and we smoked so much that we couldn’t move for three hours?” Blaise asked, setting the phial on the coffee table.

Draco was apprehensive as he eyed the swirling blue liquid. “Yes,” he hesitantly replied.

“Okay. It’s like that. But better. You’ll feel relaxed almost instantly and when you fall asleep tonight—mate, you’ll think you’ve died and woke up in Granger’s embrace.”

“Hermione?” Seamus asked, looking between the two former Slytherins. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing—”

“Draco here is harboring a little flame for our bushy-haired compadre,” Blaise replied, sitting back in his chair.

He gave Draco a saucy wink and the wizard decided in that moment that never before had he wanted to pummel an individual so profoundly. Seamus sat up and eyed Draco warily before letting out a long sigh. “As long as you don’t do anything to hurt her.”

“Have you both forgotten the fact that she is currently courting Nott?” Draco spat the question, a foul taste in his mouth.

Blaise waved his hand. “Theo is too hung up on Daphne Greengrass to properly love anyone else. Mark my words—it won’t last long. Theo, for all his sweet and gentlemanly ways, will end up breaking poor Granger’s heart. And that’ll be your chance to swoop in and play the knight in shining armor,” he mentioned, uncorking the phial with his teeth.

“That is a truly demented way of thinking,” Draco told him, looking at Seamus, who seemed to agree with Blaise.

“Hermione’s had a hard run of things. Every school year brought something new. And Ron and Harry—they weren’t the easiest of friends to deal with. I love them all, but Merlin, their little clique had some issues,” Finnigan responded, watching as Blaise downed the first gulp of Morpheus.

He took the phial and Draco grit his teeth, raising an eyebrow as Seamus cringed at the taste of the potion. “Like drinking dragon piss.”

Draco snorted and took the potion from him. “Had much experience with that, have you?” he asked before tipping the potion down his throat.

Awful. Horrendous. Grotesque. Draco didn’t think there was a word in his vocabulary—English, Elvish, French, or Italian—that was strong enough to describe the bitter taste of the Morpheus elixir. “What in the fuck is that?”

“Made from a few ancient plants—poppies and blue lotus, primarily. It’ll knock your dick in the dirt if you take too much,” Seamus vowed, sitting back in his seat and closing his eyes.

Once the bitterness subsided, an extreme heat overtook Draco, bringing sweat to his brow and chest. The calm brought alongside the blustery heat was undeniable and his thoughts shifted out of focus. Somewhere, niggling at the dark recesses of his brain, Healer Little’s words echoed. The final reaction is to turn to illicit potions and alcohol to numb the feelings altogether. The tenth reaction, of course. Good thing he’d spent all of his time breathing away his feelings.

His head spun and his body grew both heavy and light as air simultaneously. Instead of removing all thoughts of Granger, it seemed to enhance them. He could picture her fiery gaze when he pissed her off, the way her fists trembled by her sides when she got riled up. Her hair would crackle with energized magic and her lips would turn into a pout he wanted to kiss away. Kiss?

Draco reopened his eyes to find both Blaise and Seamus looking dazed, both wearing a pair of stupid smiles. A smile he could feel creeping across his own face. “What the hell did you give me?”

“Mate, give it an hour. Most vivid dreams of your life,” the Irishman explained, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“This stuff is incredible. It’s like an entire bottle of Ogden’s finest in a few precious drops,” Blaise conceded, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back.

“Theo’s a prick,” the words tumbled from Draco’s mouth before he could stop them.

“Nah,” Blaise retorted, closing his eyes, “you don’t mean that. He’s just…confused right now.”

Vivid scenes continued to play out in Draco’s mind as he slunk down a little further in the couch. Granger, biting her lip and looking up at him innocently in Potions; stirring a cup of tea at the Wulfric table; splayed out in his coal-colored sheets, a feast for his hungry eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered, leaning forward and dropping his face back into his hands.

Blaise clapped him on the shoulder, chortling forcefully at Draco’s predicament. “Seeing something provocative, mate?”

“There’s got to be something else in this,” Draco mentioned, lifting the empty phial in his hand and eyeing the single drop still nestled in the bottom. “Did you arseholes slip me some kind of lust potion?”

Blaise and Seamus both broke into raucous laughter, and with his relaxed state, Draco felt his own laugh fall from his lips. “It merely lowers inhibitions. Draws out some of the deep, dark thoughts out,” Finnigan explained. “For instance, I see myself setting the Forbidden Forest on fire.”

Draco wrinkled his brow in confusion, his own throaty laughs mixing with theirs. “Just burning it to the ground?”

Seamus smirked and conjured a flame in his hand. “Like a flash of lightning in the night.”

The three laughed until Draco’s throat felt sore and he sat back once more, his body feeling significantly heavier than it had a few minutes prior. Blaise was conjuring luna moths as big as his head from the end of his wand, sending them flapping around the common room with great swoops of their wings.

The door to the Merlin tapestry opened and Granger and Theo spilled into the room, giggling heartily. They stilled when they became aware of watchful eyes. Granger straightened herself up and smoothed her hands over her skirt, awkwardly avoiding the gaze of any wizard in the room. “Granger, what a pleasure it is to see you,” Blaise sing-songed and Draco violently kicked him.

Draco looked at her, really looked and his heart sputtered over its own beats. Probably this blasted Morpheus shit. Theo seemed to sense something was off immediately because he closed the door behind him and his eyes scanned the room. “What’s going on?”

What’s going on? What’s going on is you’re touching my witch. Such possessive thoughts had no business playing in Draco’s mind and he struggled in his oblivious stupor to stifle them. Granger walked into the room as Blaise burst into another fit of laughter. She scanned around them as well, sniffing the air. “Have you all been drinking?” she questioned, and she lifted the solitary phial to her nose to get a whiff.

Her nose wrinkled, and Seamus waved her off. “It’s just a feel-good potion, not much stronger than an anti-depressant draught.”

Draco’s heart leapt straight into his throat when Granger’s stare landed directly on his. “Malfoy?” her voice was quiet, but laden with concern. “Are you alright?”

He rolled his eyes, a great feat considering they each felt as though they weighed a stone. “I don’t need you to mother me, Granger.”

She placed a hand on his forehead, a frown etching its way over her lips. “You’re burning up. And your face is redder than my old scarves. What have you been doing in here?”

Theo sniffed the phial as well and held it up expectantly. “Well? What is this?”

“We told you—a potion,” Seamus attempted to grab the trinket from Theo, who simply held it in his fist as his arms folded over his chest.

“Really? And where does one buy this potion? At the apothecary in Hogsmeade?” Theo questioned, looking directly at Draco.

Draco shrugged—he hadn’t the slightest clue where to obtain it. Granger brushed her fingers over the back of his neck, pulling his collar away to feel if the heat was radiating all over. “You need to go to Madam Pomfrey—”

“Absolutely not,” Seamus worried, standing abruptly before swaying on the spot. “This potion isn’t exactly…legal.”

“He will be fine. It’s always like that the first few times,” Blaise mentioned and Theo rounded on him.

“Have you all lost your fucking minds? Did you forget what the Healer told us?” Theo demanded and Draco thought his voice was just a tad too loud for his liking.

Granger looked down at Draco and he could see the gold flecks burning against an ocher backdrop of her eyes. “Malfoy, you’re on probation.”

Azkaban. How could Draco have been so fucking foolish? He took a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, though it did little to clear the fog that had steeped in his brain. “I need a lie-down.”

“I’ll get him into his bed,” Granger offered with a sigh. “Come on.”

With that, she looped her arm under Draco’s and attempted to lift him to a standing position. Draco’s body wavered on his spot and his knees fought to buckle as Granger held him upright. Theo crossed his arms once more and the sound of his voice, loud and demanding, rattled through Draco’s brain. Words he could not readily understand.

As they crept down the short connecting corridor between the two common rooms, Draco leaned his head into Granger, his feet stumbling over thin air. She smelled of her persistent vanilla, but the scents of the hair potions mixed along. It would have been pleasant, had it not been all wrong.

With his head spinning violently, his stomach tumbling and lurching, Draco decided right then and there that Morpheus simply was not for him. He would stick to his father’s reserves of hundred-year-old bourbon, thank you very much. “Just put me down here,” he commanded through clenched teeth.

“We’re almost to your room,” Granger argued lightly and he groaned.

“No. Here,” he repeated and Granger reluctantly shifted her route toward the couch in the Heads’ common.

The pair tripped and stumbled toward the couch and Draco landed painfully on his hip on the side of the couch. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Granger huffed, nudging him with the tip of her shoe—a three-inch heel that Draco noticed elongated her legs.

Refusing to move him again, Granger leaned over him to retrieve the blanket from the back of the couch. “This was totally irresponsible, Malfoy,” she began, spreading the blanket over his lap. She conjured a washcloth and ran a stream of cool water over it. “Lift up.”

Draco did as he was told, grabbing onto the back of her knee for leverage. “Well. I’ve never been one to do the right thing, have I?” he returned, looking up at her when she pushed him back against the couch lightly.

Granger ran the cloth over his forehead, frowning at his question. His hand remained on the back of her knee, a point he would obsess over later. Brushing his hair back with nimble fingers, she finally chanced a look down at him and met his gaze. “You saved our lives. That was the most righteous and selfless thing you’ve ever done. And now, you are blowing the opportunity for the world to see you for who you are. And for what? Illegal potions?”

Disappointment colored her tone and Draco felt guilt pierce right through him. Her hair fell over her shoulders as she remained leaning on the couch beside his arm. As strange as she looked—all put together and spiffy—she was still Granger. The potion allowed him to think those thoughts he hid away, even from himself. She was gorgeous, radiant, resplendent. His hand lifted from the back of her knee and he twirled one silken strand around his finger. Her eyebrow bounced and the corners of her mouth twitched.

“You know, you’re most beautiful in the mornings. When your hair is a crude owl’s nest and your voice is all raspy from sleep,” he commented, the backs of his knuckles glancing over the skin of her neck.

A queer look befell Granger’s features and she put a hand over his, lowering it to his lap. “I don’t know what was in whatever that was that you drank, but I assure you, I you will regret saying all of this in the morning.”

“I could be a good wizard for you,” he commented, his eyes pleading with her to understand what his mind was freely expressing, the self-loathing beginning to seep into those thoughts. “If I didn’t fuck everything up so often.”

Granger’s hand went from beside him and brushed over his cheek lightly. “I’m certain there is a good wizard already in there. We’ll let your head stop spinning and we can get you up to bed.”

And with that, Granger strode away from him, keeping her back to him as she inspected their CCD potion. Fuck.

o-o-o

Draco knew he was being completely irrational the day following Nott and Granger's date. All he could think about was how angelic she had looked; how supple and smooth her skin had felt under his hands. Theo had experienced the pleasure of staring at her beauty all night; her hand had laced with his; she had probably laughed her adorable little self-conscious laugh for Theo. The image of Nott kissing Granger sent shards of angry fire through his spine.

In his room, Draco had awoken with boiling rage, smashing Eugene's terrarium in a fit of wrath. Then he had spent the better part of an hour trying to stop the kitten-sized dragon from breathing little shoots of fire all over his room and lighting everything ablaze. It had taken hours to repair the terrarium and copious treats to coax Eugene out of his anxious mood. The dragon finally settled down near lunchtime and Draco was addled with remorse for scaring him.

As the wizard brushed his teeth, Eugene sat on Draco's shoulder and nuzzled into his neck. His tiny talons left little scratches over Draco's bare skin, but he paid it no mind—he was thankful his miniature companion was still displaying affection after Draco’s tantrum. At least he had quickly forgotten how much of a prick his master was.

What an imbecilic move, drinking that infernal potion of Finnigan’s. Why on earth anyone would enjoy that was beyond his understanding. His night had been fitful, full of dreams with Granger in all manners of undress—innocent scenes and downright sinful ones to match. Then there was Granger’s disappointment in him. Even with all of the fuzziness in his brain, that stood out to him most about the previous night.

Filled to the brim with shame, Draco pulled on a pair of jeans and left the bathroom to head toward the kitchenette. There Granger sat at the table, the Daily Prophet in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. She glanced up at him briefly and had to do a double take. "Is that…is that a dragon?"

"He's a Draconus miniscura," Draco replied, feeling unnecessarily cross as he pulled a few slices of bread from their basket and the apple butter from the cooling box.

Granger stared at him, her mouth agape. "You brought a dragon into the school?"

His palms were sweating with remorseful shame and he wished she would just cut the small talk and engage in a fiery row. Perhaps he was just irritated over her courtship with Theo. "I brought a Draconus minuscura into the school."

"But they're not on the approved list of pets!"

"Are you going to turn me in?" he almost dared, before his eyes dropped to the table between them. “For any of it?”

She clamped her mouth shut, regarding him for a moment. Her eyes went from him to the tiny dragon that was currently licking his master's neck. "No…but don’t expect to get away with it again. The next time, I’ll turn you into McGonagall for your own safety. And I don’t know why you would bring an unapproved creature into the school,” she remarked, though Draco could tell her curiosity was piqued.

"He's my pet, Granger. He's been with me since childhood," Draco responded as though it were obvious. "I've known him a lot longer than you've known that horrifying puff of orange fur you call a cat."

Granger seemed surprised by his statement. "He's full grown?"

Yes. Let’s move on to safer topics, instead of how much of an idiot I am. Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes. He's a miniature dragon. They're extremely rare and only found in arid deserts, usually."

"But naturally, you had to have one and your parents just gave in?" Granger inquired, sounding only slightly bitter to be mentioning his parents.

"No, Eugene was a rescue. When he was just a little thing about the size of my thumb,” Draco held up his thumb for emphasis, “and still wingless, one of my father's friends—a dragon tamer—came across him wandering the Gobi. He had lost his mother. The tamer brought him to my home and asked if I would like to care for him. Obviously, I wasn't about to turn him down. No money was exchanged for him," Draco finished, taking a bite of his toast and feeding a corner to the creature.

Granger gave him the most curious look and Draco raised an eyebrow. "What?" he snapped, suddenly feeling the need to put up his defenses.

Realizing she was staring, Granger shook her head. "Nothing…you just don't seem like the type to rescue animals."

Feeling like a useless cad, Draco’s shame gnawed at him further. He shrugged the shoulder Eugene was not on, a morose frown on his face. "Just because I was a Death Eater doesn't mean I'm completely heartless."

His tone was a little colder than he perhaps wished, but angst at her courtship with Theo and regret at his boneheaded decisions slipped like ice through his veins. He swallowed his bitterness and tried to remind himself to be civil. "Would you care to hold him?" he offered, gesturing to the tiny beast on his shoulder.

Granger hesitated, so Draco removed the dragon from his perch and scooted his chair closer to where she sat. Holding Eugene out in the palm of his hand, Draco ran his eyes over her. Her hair was still sleek from the night before—a fact that made his blood seethe with pure, unadulterated envy and anger—but she had tied it into a massive ballerina's bun. "It's a good thing your hair is back. Sometimes he gets a little excited—wouldn't want him to catch it on fire."

She pulled her hand back from where she had started to extend it and Draco actually laughed. Her eyes flickered to his at the sound of the throaty timber. "He's harmless, really. Just excitable at times. Here, like this," Draco took Granger's hand in his own, feeling a dangerous heat spread across his chest, and brought her fingertips to the miniscura's head.

The dragon lifted its tiny head to look at her and then gave a little roar of approval, spreading his translucent orange wings. Her eyes sought Draco's and he gave her a tense half-smile. "He likes you."

Withdrawing his hand from hers, he realized he held it much too long to be necessary. His hand already felt colder, empty. "How come I've never seen you with him before?" she asked, running a finger along the ridges of the dragon’s spine.

"You've never been in my room, have you?" His cheeks reddened at the implications of his words.

"Obviously not," she replied, holding out her palm for the dragon to hop into.

"Well, that's where he lives. I can't have that bloodthirsty beast of yours chasing after him," Draco teased, letting a small chip of ice break from around his heart.

She rolled her eyes at him and brought Eugene up to her face. She cooed at him and Draco smiled at the sound. "He enjoys affection. Kisses on his head or little scratches under his wings. He's also a snuggler, he'll nuzzle right into you and take a nap. But you've gotta watch him, because he'll start snoring and singe a hole right through your robes."

Granger laughed, covering her mouth and he internally beamed. Her gentle sniggering swelled his ego. "Do you speak from experience?" she asked, a gleeful light reaching her eyes.

He grinned, a genuine smile for the first time in ages. "Only a few dozen times. He caught a four-foot essay on Wolfsbane on fire in third year. I had to rewrite the entire thing!"

"Oh, he's tellin' stories on you, isn't he, little Genie?" she cooed at the tiny dragon before planting a delicate kiss on its head.

Her smile was infectious as Draco pondered the absurdity of Hermione Granger cooing at his childhood pet and the fact that he had elicited not one, but two real laughs from her in less than ten minutes. Take that, Nott, you berk. "How was your ‘dinner thing’ last night?" he asked, hoping he sounded polite and not like he was seething with unexpressed jealousy.

Granger's eyes met his as she put the dragon on her shoulder. Her cheeks tinged the lightest shade of pink and she averted her eyes to avoid his stare, but they landed on his bare chest. Scars marred his otherwise pristine skin and she seemed unable to stare too long as she lifted her eyes to a place just over his head. She brought her lip between her teeth, considering her answer, and he fought to keep his eyes locked on her. "It was quite lovely, actually. Theodore is a lot different than I expected…though I guess all of you Slytherins are full of surprises."

Draco felt a radiant heat under his skin once more. I’m different than she had expected. But different good? Or different bad? "Well…it's not like you would have known us before. We were on opposing teams, so to speak."

She nodded. "True. But all of you continue to surprise me. Theo reminds me a lot of Harry, except slightly more Dark and cunning. He's funny and charming and easy to get along with."

Everything you're not! He willed his mind to stop. He wished he could bad-mouth Theo to her, paint him in a negative light. But Theo was a good man, through and through—not an ounce of his father in him. "He's like a brother to me," Draco diplomatically settled on.

"I can see that. I noticed you’re closer to him than to Blaise, but even Blaise has said that the three of you are practically brothers," she told him.

Draco nodded thoughtfully, reminding himself silently to hex Blaise into the next century for his encouragement of illicit potion use. "It's true. All of us are only children in Pureblood families. Blaise didn't grow up being conditioned to become a Death Eater, like Nott and I, but that's not to say his life was easy."

He was silent for a moment. In between all of the demands the school year had placed on him - bedding down Astoria Greengrass at every opportunity; boring a silent hole into Theo’s head; pining after Granger—Draco hadn't spent nearly enough time with his other best friend. He made a mental note to challenge the Italian to a race over the Quidditch pitch. After he knocked him the fuck out.

"It's weird though. I don't really remember you with them much in school. It was always Crabbe and Goyle," she mentioned as the miniscura began nuzzling into her neck.

Draco swallowed harshly, choking down the memory of Crabbe falling into the flames of Fiendfyre. "Crabbe and Goyle were with me since childhood as well. But they were more or less cronies. Zabini and Nott were too kind-hearted to be the arrogant little pricks I wanted beside me to intimidate others. Crabbe and Goyle were thick, both literally and figuratively. They did as I asked, and I cherished the ability to boss someone around. Nott would have beat my arse if I had tried to command him to do anything and Zabini would have looked at me like I was crazy before going back to his reading. But make no mistake, I would die for either one of those men, no questions asked."

Granger’s lips turned up in a small smile. "Who knew that you all could be so loyal? I thought Slytherins were all about cheating and lying and backstabbing to get ahead?"

He laughed as she smirked. "Only against people we didn't like. Like you, Weasley, and Potter."

She fell silent once more and poured herself another cup of tea. "You're actually quite nice to talk to when you aren't being a total arse," she smiled into her cup.

An unease settled into the pit of his stomach as he ran his fingers over Eugene’s back, accidentally brushing against the skin of her neck as he had the night before. "I guess we can agree that I am more than full of surprises, Granger."

"Yes, yes. Theo keeps telling me you're a good man with a big heart and I never believed him. That is, until I saw you come in showing affection to a little miniscura and spouting off about brotherhood and loyalty," she was smirking once more and Draco thought his signature look was quite fit on her.

She kept mentioning Theo and the pain that vice-gripped his heart gave a dull ache each time. Theo Nott. Theo fucking Nott. "So…did he take you somewhere nice?" Again, he tried to sound curious and not like his heart was throbbing with burning envy.

Her smile fell slightly, and she looked down into her tea. "Yeah. He brought me to that little bistro in Hogsmeade. Rented it out for an hour so we could avoid reporters looking for a cheap story about how I'm a trollop, out gallivanting with Purebloods."

Theo had rented an entire restaurant. For an entirely selfless reason. That bastard. "That sounds…nice," Draco offered cordially.

Granger looked embarrassed to be speaking of her evening, a distant look in her eyes when they glittered back up toward him. “What was last night about?” she questioned, and Draco stilled his hand on Eugene.

It was his turn for the embarrassment to flood his cheeks and the humiliation to creep back in. He did not have a good reason for his poor decisions, save anger at his friend for taking her on a date and at her for agreeing. The weight of everything they had suffered through the last year was pressing on his chest nearly incessantly and, with a bitter reluctance, he realized that the few minutes without those particular memories had been soothing.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling his emotional walls erecting themselves in his mind. “I don’t need to justify my actions to you, Granger. We’re only just on civil terms.”

Granger sat back, looking as though he had smacked her around the face. He stood to scoop the dragon from her collar. "I'll take Eugene back to his little island home now," he muttered, the moment lost.

Making his way back to his room, he stopped in the doorway of the kitchenette. Without turning around, he hung his head in shame—an action that was becoming all too familiar where Granger was concerned. “Thank you for last night.”

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she retorted, her voice quivering dangerously.

Draco turned his head from side to side, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. Getting angry will only push her away even more. “Duly noted.”

And with that, Draco strode swiftly away, grinding his teeth so harshly, he thought a tooth might break. What a fucking useless waste I am.

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been so kind in reading and reviewing this story! I’m sorry it has taken me a while to get this chapter out. Jealous Draco is always my favorite, though. Please review!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really sorry about the wait for this chapter. This year has been incredibly hectic for me, and I hope you can just accept this poor excuse and a sincere apology. 
> 
>  
> 
> I’d also like to take a moment and dedicate this story, in its entirety (original and revision) to my friend, Vanessa. This story brought us together over a year ago, and it’s hard to believe that I won’t ever hear her reactions to each chapter going forth. I hope you’re up there, watching Tom bathe every day and singing along to his butterfly song—it would only be right. We all love and miss you!

Chapter 14:

On a chilly, brilliant day in late October, Hermione Granger found herself the unwitting fourth person in a strange quartet. Astoria Greengrass had insisted Hermione tag along with her and Malfoy to Hogsmeade, exclaiming, “ _ Madam Rouchier’s has the finest gowns money can buy!”  _ Not that Hermione gave a hippogriff’s right buttock about buying anything remotely Pureblood-approved for the All Hallows’ Eve Masquerade. She would just as soon wear one of Ginny’s extras and call it a day.

__

Theo had been the only reason Hermione had agreed to accompany the group of ragtag Slytherins.  _ “We were raised together—Astoria is a gem. The War is over and the Greengrass family never accepted the Dark side.”  _ Theo’s persuading had felt strangely intentional—as though he were trying to ease Hermione into the elitist pureblood lifestyle; a feeling she tried to swallow down as the four walked through the bustling streets of Hogsmeade.

Begrudgingly, Hermione had to admit that Astoria  _ was _ , in fact, a gem. The witch was quite charming, with a gracious heart and charismatic personality. It pleased Hermione to find that she donated copious amounts of time and money to all manners of charity, including to homeless house elves, displaced by the incarceration of their masters after the War. When she spoke, her achievements did not come off braggadocious or empty. Astoria Greengrass had a heart of gold and the personality and actual gold to match.

This fact annoyed Hermione to no end. She wasn’t even certain as to  _ why  _ Astoria got under her skin so easily—they had plenty in common and her ambition was something Hermione greatly admired in anyone else.  _ Why does she bother me so adversely?  _ Her eyes shifted to where Astoria’s hand rested in the crook of Malfoy’s arm, just as hers did in Theo’s.

Malfoy was staring at the ground as they moseyed about and had hardly said a word all day. His teeth clicked as he worked his jaw, his focus seeming to be anywhere but where Astoria and Theo were discussing finer memories of growing up in the dungeons. Hermione and Malfoy were sandwiched in the middle and he seemed to keep a deliberate distance between them. 

__

_ “You know, you’re most beautiful in the mornings. When your hair is a crude owl’s nest and your voice is all raspy from sleep.”  _ Hermione tried desperately not to think of the compliment Malfoy had paid her or what it had meant. But in the days that followed that encounter, his voice—more unreserved and genial than she had ever heard it—echoed through her mind. Luna had warned her, hadn’t she? In a constant state of denial where her blond-headed counterpart was concerned, she had not put any thought into the truth of Luna’s words. Until that raw and unabashed moment.

_ Brought on by a bloody illegal potion.  _ With no way of knowing whether his thoughts were genuine or whether it was all a side effect of the potion, the implications either way drove her to near-insanity. She and Theo had not spoken of that night since, but Theo seemed to watch her interactions with Malfoy with a keen eye thereafter.  _ Or, perhaps, you’re being paranoid. _

The sound of Malfoy finally opening his mouth drew her from her own mind. “I’d like to go in here and have a look around,” he mentioned, the first full sentence from him in nearly an hour.

He gestured toward a small book shop that Hermione had frequented often in her former years as a student. Her eyes closed, and she heard the shrill sound of a cat’s mewling—the Caterwauling Charm that had nearly gotten them captured by Death Eaters before the Final Battle. Theo’s hand touched her lower back. “Hermione? Are you alright?”

Reopening her eyes, she locked into a stare with Malfoy’s. He narrowed his eyes and studied her face, trying to read the story her mouth refused to relay. “There is a particular book I’m looking for—maybe you could help, Granger?” he suggested.

Curiously, his tone sounded edgy, as though he were perturbed by Hermione’s demeanor. She glanced up to Theo, who was staring at Malfoy with a raised brow. “I could help you look, sure.”

Astoria dropped Malfoy’s arm and, instead, took Theo’s. “Come along Theodore. We can go to Grimund’s.”

With that, the Slytherin beauty pulled Hermione’s date away, shepherding him to the jewelers at the end of the row. A shiver ran through Hermione, and she was uncertain if it was because of the cool air or from being alone with Malfoy. “What was that?” he asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his crushed cashmere robes.

“A shiver,” she chirped, shrugging one shoulder.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t play daft with me, Granger. It’s not a good look for you.”

_ “You’re prettiest in the mornings.”  _ Hermione avoided his stare and shoved past him toward the door of the bookshop. “What is it you were looking for, then?”

“Why are you avoiding the question?” Malfoy pressed, putting a hand on the door before she could open it.

“Because it is none of your damn business!” she shrieked, glancing over his shoulder as a witch picked up her pace and tucked her face to pretend she had not been eavesdropping on the strange pair. “We aren’t even friends, Malfoy—so why are you being such a nag?”

She had to avoid looking into his eyes, seemingly endless pools of glacial grey that pierced right through her psyche. Why did he suddenly care about her well-being?  _ No. It’s not sudden, remember the rainstorm?  _ “Are you seeing Healer Little for personal sessions?” he questioned, still holding the door closed.

“You’re not going to drop this are you?” Malfoy shook his head in her peripheral, causing her to sigh. “I just heard the Caterwauling Charm’s screeching for a moment. When we came to Hogsmeade, just before the battle, we landed right here.”

Malfoy lifted his head toward the awning over the doorway, drawing in a deep breath. Hermione had to remind herself that he had not been privy to everything that happened beyond the walls of the castle that night. Her hands clasped in front of her, she rocked back on the balls of her feet anxiously. He appeared to gather himself because his jaw wasn’t clenched quite so tightly when he lowered his face once more. “They have a vast collection of books on magical creatures in here. I thought, perhaps, you would like a tome on the  _ Draconus Miniscura _ .”

Hermione was taken aback at this seemingly random offering. “Eugene  _ is  _ quite dashing. Even if his master  _ is  _ a complete prat,” she replied with a scoff. 

The corners of Malfoy’s lips twitched as he finally opened the door. “Get inside, Granger.”

The shop was the same as it had ever been, cramped and cluttered with new and used books. Centuries of literature packed the shelves and Hermione giggled lightly when she felt Malfoy take a deep breath of the store’s musty old book smell. “I much prefer this little shop to Flourish and Blott’s,” she mentioned as Malfoy’s fingers ran over the spines of books, searching out the right one.

“Flourish was a coward who outed his half-sister to the Dark Lord because of her half-blood status,” Malfoy muttered with a frown.

Her brows raised toward her hairline in shock. This was new information to her ears. Malfoy plucked a thick book from the shelf level with his waist. “Don’t look so surprised, Granger. Good people did bad things to save themselves,” he told her, offering her the book. “War claims casualties both in body and in spirit.”

Hermione suspected that he was speaking of himself, rather than Dirk Flourish. Looking down at the book, she watched as his thin fingers brushed away some dust.  _ Rarest Reptilia and Strangest Serpents.  _ “There is a rather extensive passage about minis. I figure—seeing as Eugene was wholly unhappy with having to leave your company—if you are going to interact, you should understand proper handling. Your half-giant would likely kill him.”

Taking the book, Hermione pursed her lips. “ _ Hagrid  _ happens to love dragons. He would probably be thrilled to meet Genie.”

“He would be even more thrilled to turn me into McGonagall for harboring an unauthorized pet,” Malfoy returned, turning away from her to stride toward the front.

“He’s had a few illegal creatures pass through his hands over the years. And he is a professional,” she argued, watching as Malfoy dropped a few knuts on the countertop in payment for the book. “And I can buy my own things.”

Bored with her arguing, he rolled his eyes. “Will you stifle yourself?” he opened the door and ushered her out into Hogsmeade. “And do you think Theo isn’t spending copious amounts of gold on something for you to wear to the Masque?”

With a panicked look toward the jewelers where Astoria and Theo were exiting, Hermione’s mouth fell open. “I don’t need it—we don’t even know what my gown looks like.”

Malfoy snorted a laugh. “Honestly, Granger. I always knew you were unrefined, but if you’re going to court a pureblood, you should at least act like you know how to carry yourself and what is expected of you.”

“Oh, fuck off, you prat,” she mumbled, her cheeks burning at his taunts. 

Theo slung an arm over her shoulders and Malfoy’s smile fell. “I like it when you talk dirty, love. Really sets the mood,” Theo goaded, kissing her temple. 

Her face was fully aflame as Theo laughed a booming guffaw. Astoria raised her eyebrows at the brawny Slytherin. “You are such an arse. Hermione,” she trained her hazel eyes in Hermione’s direction, “why don’t you and I go on into Madam Rouchier’s? I’ve got Theo’s bag of galleons, ready to go.”

The witch held up an emerald velvet pouch that rattled with the sound of coins within. “I won’t buy anything with your money, Nott,” Hermione protested feebly.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows and thrust his hands in his pockets once more, leaning back to look comically in Theo’s direction, waiting for his friend’s reply. Theo ran a hand over his face and looked to Astoria. “If she refuses, just buy a gown anyway. She’d never refuse if the gold has already been spent. Especially with Madam Rouchier’s strict ‘no returns’ policy.”

Harrumphing, Hermione crossed her arms. “Damn you all and your Slytherin cunning.”

Astoria’s tinkling laugh grated on her nerves as she looped her arm through Hermione’s. “So much girl talk, so little time.”

Theo looked to Astoria, his face stony as he attempted to communicate something non-verbally. Malfoy simply shook his head almost imperceptibly. Astoria seemed unaffected and Hermione narrowed her eyes at the snakes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing at all,” Astoria assured. “These two think I can’t behave with someone new, apparently.”

“Behave?” Hermione parroted as Astoria turned her away.

The witches strolled slowly and Hermione peered over her shoulder at the men. Theo had his back to them, speaking animatedly. Malfoy was staring directly at her back, refusing to look away even when caught. His face was difficult to read, as always, but a second chill shimmied down her spine.

“Speaking of behaving,” Astoria began as an elderly witch opened the door to the dressmaker’s shop, “are you going to select something on your own or will I have to buy something and force you into it later?”

Expecting racks of gowns, Hermione was surprised to find that bolts of material lined every wall. A set of three mannequins stood in the window, where they swished their dresses about and giggled at the girls. The elderly witch gave them a kind smile. “Miss Greengrass, it’s so good to see you again. And, just  _ who _ is your friend?”

She knew precisely who Hermione was but Astoria introduced them as perfect strangers. “Madam Rouchier, this is Hermione Granger. She is attending the Halloween Masquerade with Theodore Nott and is in dire need of a gown.”

Madam Rouchier began eyeing Hermione’s figure, her index finger over her lips. “Something strapless. With an A-line cut. I have the perfect fabric,” she turned on her heel and gestured for them to follow her to the furthest wall. “Your gown is just about ready, Miss Greengrass. The final stitches are being added to the wand pocket. Mr. Malfoy has already paid, naturally.”

Hermione glanced into the back room and watched as a needle pulled thread through the fabric, sewing the corner of a pocket into a gown of silver silk. “I don’t understand their desire to pay for anything—Viktor didn’t purchase my gown for the Yule Ball.”

Astoria and Madam Rouchier stopped their chatter and both looked at her. Astoria shifted and raised a brow. “I can’t speak for Viktor. But it’s in Theo and Draco’s very nature. Narcissa raised them to treat the witches in their lives with the utmost respect.”

“Narcissa? What does she have to do with Theodore?” Hermione asked, eyeing the bolt of fabric Madam Rouchier selected.

Made of black material, gold shimmered in the light and her hand was drawn to the charmeuse. “This is the one, then,” the elderly witch said with a satisfied smirk.

She pattered away, fabric in hand and Astoria finally answered Hermione’s question. “Theo’s mum died in childbirth. His father was a real bastard. The Malfoy’s really took him in as a surrogate son. They taught him manners and pureblood etiquette; Narcissa taught him how to waltz; Lucius’ talk on sex was delivered to them both before they left for Hogwarts.”

A shudder ran through Hermione at the thought of Lucius Malfoy giving anyone  _ ‘the talk.’ _ Astoria laughed before sighing. “I suppose that’s why Theo chose Draco.”

Madam Rouchier lifted Hermione’s arms and seamstress’ tap wound around her bust. “What do you mean, he chose Malfoy? Chose him how?”

In the mirror, Hermione noticed a twinkle in Astoria’s eye that she would describe as mischievous if she had to pinpoint it. The witch began eyeing shoe shapes as Hermione watched her move, confusion making her heart race. “Theodore Nott is completely in love with my sister.”

The proclamation was not quite the gut-punch Hermione would have expected to feel. She was in a casual relationship with Theo, but something in the pit of her stomach nagged at her every time she recalled this fact.  _ Daphne.  _ She was always there, at the back of Hermione’s mind. Always lurking behind Theo’s haunted blue eyes. “I’m not following.”

Astoria placed a heeled shoe on the counter behind where Madam Rouchier was now taking Hermione’s height. “The War was particularly hard for Daphne. Pansy had been her best friend since childhood and her death,” Astoria looked down at her hands, solemn as she spoke of the deceased Slytherin, “was incredibly difficult for her to wrap her mind around. Daphne went to Beauxbatons to repeat her seventh year and nearly begged Theo to go along. Finally, she gave him an ultimatum—her or Draco.”

“But Theo went to Hogwarts,” Hermione let out a long rush of air. “To stick by Malfoy.”

Astoria nodded, her plump and perfectly rouged lips turned out in a pout. “Precisely. Daphne took it as the highest betrayal. She must miss him, as well—she’s been owling me nearly every day. Theo is ignoring her and she’s growing desperate.”

Theo was loyal to a fault and Hermione’s heart tore afresh for his plight. “To choose between your best friend and your love. That couldn’t have been easy.”

“It runs even deeper than that. Ancient familial bonds have been overturned. The Sacred Twenty-Eight—”

“Is nothing but a bunch of hippogriff shit,” Malfoy’s icy drawl slithered through the air from where he stood in the doorway. “Tori, Theo would like to know what color his tie should be. I don’t know what to call  _ this _ ,” he lifted a hand up and down to denote the fabric that was winding itself around Hermione. “So why don’t you go find him at the clothier’s?”

Astoria glared at Malfoy, obviously miffed by his sudden intrusion, and stalked out of the dress shop. She shoved Theo’s bag of galleons into Malfoy’s chest as she took her leave, a look passing between the two. Hermione frowned as the fabric lifted around her in tufts, swing this way and that and impeding her view.

“Mister Malfoy, if you are going to sulk, can you do so in the chair? Your hovering is quite unnerving,” Madam Rouchier chided, lifting her wand to make the fabric drape over one shoulder. “I revise my earlier design. It is far more effective being draped over one shoulder.”

Malfoy went to the chair and collapsed into it, slouching in an uncharacteristic manner. The mannequins in the window let out a fresh wave of giggles, whispering to one another and blowing him flirtatious kisses. The dressmaker went to lift Hermione’s sleeve and dropped her arm with a horrified slackening of her jaw.  _ MUDBLOOD.  _ “Oh, dear. Maybe sleeves?”

Hermione caught Malfoy’s eye in the mirror and then tugged her jumper down. “That won’t be necessary. I will be fine between glamour charms and the dim lighting.”

Malfoy tucked his face downward, the tips of his ears scarlet. Madam Rouchier simply nodded, her peppy countenance shattered at the abhorrent reminder of Hermione’s status as the Golden Girl. “The gown will be ready by Saturday morning for you to pick up.”

With that, Malfoy rose and handed a small sack of galleons across the counter. Hermione noticed it the bag was silver with a black monogrammed ‘M’ embroidered into the fabric. He shrugged. “It brings me great pleasure to spend my father’s gold.”

Madam Rouchier gave Hermione one last pitying smile before Malfoy escorted her out of the shop. “What was Astoria speaking about— _ ancient familial bonds have been overturned?” _

__

“Theo would be the first member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to venture out, should you become betrothed,” he responded quietly, his tone holding a bitterness Hermione hated.

“Betrothed? I—We—It’s casual,” Hermione sputtered over her words. 

“Purebloods aren’t casual, Granger,” he said, an air of finality closing the discussion before Hermione could truly begin to question his words.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was being left unsaid, kept from her by a tight-knit group of friends. An unease settled over her as she walked beside Malfoy in silence. Feeling ignorant was not conducive to Hermione’s psychological well-being. Her own paranoia and lack of self-confidence confirmed Astoria’s words. Theo’s distant looks and mum disposition when his ex was mentioned were the cherry on top of a pie she wasn’t so sure she desired a slice of.

o-o-o

 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

The day before All Hallows’ Eve was a picturesque autumn day: the air was dry and cool; the sun shone bright; the sky endlessly cobalt with no cloud in sight. As much as Draco enjoyed the summer for its warmth and long hours of sunlight, he loved autumn as well. The trees were brilliant shades of crimson, gold, and orange and there was a certain static energy that crackled all around him.

Wanting to feel the cool air on his face, Draco removed his robes and shrunk the garment down to store in his back pocket. His mother would have had a fit at the wrinkling of his robes. He smirked at the thought and continued on his path to the pitch.

Passing the memorial statue, he realized Theo was sitting on the ground on the Death Eater's side of the memorial, a defeated look on his face. As he sat back on his haunches, his ankles were crossed and his arms wrapped around his knees, hands clasped.

Draco thought for a moment about turning around and going back through the castle and out another door to head to the quidditch pitch, but the look on Theo's face made him decide against it. Theo was courting Granger because they fit so well together and it was an easy solution to stymie the loneliness they both felt. Draco couldn’t fault him for that. Drawing in a deep breath, he marched forward.

He came around to stand behind Theo, who merely grunted in acknowledgment. Along the Death Eater's names, sprawled over the top of the quoted sentiments, in bright green: MURDERERS. Draco's heart grew heavy, and for the first time all week, it had nothing to do with Granger. He felt for his friend—his brother—who tried so desperately to pretend as though he hated his father, who tried so desperately not to  _ become  _ his father.

He clapped a hand to Theo's shoulder and sighed heavily. "Fuck, mate. I'm sorry."

As he propped his broom against the memorial, he withdrew his wand, ready to scourgify it all off. Theo put his hand over his friend's wand and lowered it. "No. By hand."

Draco conceded and retrieved a handful of grass. Transfiguring each blade into two scrub brushes, a shallow bucket, and soap, he filled the bucket with warm water and knelt next to his friend. Neither of them had ever had to partake in manual labor, but it clearly meant more to Theo to scrub everything off without magic. They scrubbed in small circles, working the soap into the paint. Morose silence rang, loud as a bell between them.

It must have been smeared on by a younger student because the vandal hadn’t bothered with a permanency charm. Draco felt his earlier irritation returning, not directed at Theo, but instead to the people who would never accept the changes they had valiantly tried to bring about since the school year began. His own voice echoed in his mind;  _ ‘Mudblood’  _ slipped from his lips carelessly on a loop, Granger’s face revealing the hurt and bitter stinging the word had wrought. How insensitive could he be? Even as he tried to enact change, he resorted back to his old ways under pressure. And if he so easily fell back into his old ways, why expect the rest of the world to change?

A few students passed, stopping to watch the Wulfrics curiously, until Draco spat out a vicious, "Get the fuck out of here, or so help me."

He looked at his friend and saw that his lip was trembling, but he remained stoic. Draco averted his eyes and continued the scrubbing until finally, the wooden base was clean once more. “We’ll get some broom polish on it, fill in those scratches and it will be good as new,” he reassured Theo.

Theo stared down at his own name once more and Draco knew his father’s demons were tormenting him. No matter the change they wished to bring in the future, the past was always there, hiding in the shadows like a spurned lover. His eyes bleary and wet, Theo rasped, “Do you ever see him around the castle?”

Draco had seen Nott, Sr. once, when he had been coming from the Potions classroom after hours. The spirit had said nothing, only hung his head in his hands as Draco passed. His presence in the castle would only serve to afflict Theo further; Draco shook his head. “No. I think he crossed beyond the veil.”

Theo worked his jaw and dragged his eyes from the monument to Draco’s. “Good. Because if he does make an appearance, let him know I’ll be pissing on his grave for what he did to Daphne.”

Draco recoiled from the ferocity in Theo’s tone, equal parts confusion and dread filling him. “Daphne?”

Theo looked back at the monument, pure hatred burning in his eyes and raised his wand. Within moments, his father’s name was obliterated from the memoriam Theo had helped erect. “The bastard altered the marriage contract. Daphne is fucking bonded to me for life!”

Involuntarily, Draco’s mouth fell open. Theo put both hands over his face and scrubbed downward, a wry smile on his lips when he next looked at his friend. “Looks like you might get Granger after all, so get your act together, Malfoy.”

o-o-o

Draco knew he had to break things off with Astoria. Granger was far from being his—she barely tolerated him most days. He hadn't given much thought to how he would break it off with Astoria—there were lust and the desire to keep their parents happy and they both knew it. They could call it courting to their mothers’ faces, but in the end, they both knew that they were only in this to satiate the sexual frustrations they both felt.  _ Fucking marital traditions.  _ It would feel almost orgasmic to be able to defy his parents, one more time. 

Astoria had just left his bedchamber and he lay, still naked and thoroughly exhausted, and stared at the ceiling. The only noise was the soft squeaks coming from Eugene and the crackling of the fire dying down in his fireplace. Astoria was an easy outlet for the self-deprecation and mourning he felt each day, and he was really going to miss the distraction while he tried to gather what little dignity and appeal he might still possess in order to enchant Granger.

He could not recall quite when the feisty little witch had invaded his thoughts, but her face swam through his mind when he was with Astoria, her voice rattled in his brain. The look in her eye when Astoria showed up each night was undeniable.  _ Disappointment.  _ He had an unquenchable desire to build a friendship, a trust with her, and he had absolutely no idea how to go about it. Theo kept advising him to just "be himself" which was an empty sentiment that was rarely helpful.  _ Who am I?  _ Draco was consistently unable to answer this question. His moods could change quickly enough to give someone whiplash; the confusing feelings he felt towards her only fueling the agitated fire that raged within him at all times.

Draco had always harbored a strange attraction to Granger in childhood, but he'd had to quickly squash that for fear his father would find out. During sixth and subsequently seventh year, he had all but forgotten her, too wrapped up in his Death Eater lifestyle and impending doom to pay her any mind. Then, as the fucking Fates would have it, she showed up in his childhood home on Easter, and the sounds of her screams brought up fresh waves of possessive and remorseful feelings for her. He had loved Pansy, sure, even wanted a life with her. But all the while, Granger had lain beneath the surface, scratching at the back of his mind at the most inopportune moments. There hadn't been a day since Easter where her face didn't infiltrate his mind. The fiery little teenager she had been burned forever into his memory, her incessant need to be right still causing him to roll his eyes. 

At times, alone in his room, he fought panic attacks, stifling the visions of her writhing on his floor in agony. Other moments, his mind focused on the way her soft shoulders looked as she brushed her teeth, still clad in her pajamas. Granger’s face was slowly starting to replace Pansy's, a notion that caused guilt to gnaw at him relentlessly. His first true love had died only five months prior and already he was beginning to spurn real feelings for someone else. What of his relationship with Pansy—had it all been a fluke?

He knew the answer to that was a resounding  _ no _ . Draco had loved Pansy in every way a boy of sixteen or seventeen could love another. Pansy was his first—first kiss, first sexual encounter, the first girl to make him crave a life and family. He wouldn't take back what they had during their all too brief love, even if he had the chance to wipe his memory clean of her. She had been a wonderful companion to him for so long.

In Pansy’s absence, he felt mind-numbingly raw and lonesome, aching to be loved and love someone completely. He yearned for a female counterpart that could match him in wit, tenacity, and passion. A near-desperation filled him, a longing to feel the gentle touch of a woman who wanted  _ him _ , not just for what he could do with his prick or because his mother would approve of his choice in partner. He wanted a love that would knock him off his feet and send him scrambling on his knees for more. Draco wanted  _ her _ .

He and Pansy had grown up together, promised to each other from birth. The Greengrass family were longtime friends of the Malfoys and so he was comfortable and familiar with Astoria, as well. Draco had never had to try to earn anyone’s affections and the prospect of having to do so was more frightening than exciting. He had been a complete and total cock to her thus far. Calling her slurs and picking fights to avoid how he actually felt—a feeling that had been a startling revelation for him—was a marvelous beginning. 

Though, if he were honest—which he rarely was with himself—arguing with the witch brought him a secretive joy. Granger was fiery and unafraid to face him, often serving him a bit of his own medicinal potion. When she got riled up, she was resplendent—her hair frizzed around her face and her chocolate eyes sparked with flecks of gold; her cheeks turned a delightful rosy color and she would stand to her full height, an entire foot shorter than him. So many times, when she was yelling at him, her tiny fists balled up next to her, he wanted to do nothing more than grab her into a fierce kiss that made her forget her own name.

Draco let out a strangled groan of frustration and rolled onto his side to yell into his pillow. He knew no one could hear him, a silencing charm over the room. His mind was racing far too much to allow sleep to come. Climbing out of bed, he pulled on a clean pair of loose-fitting joggers and went into the common room. A warm cup of hot chocolate and a slice of cake would really hit the spot. The fire was still roaring in the fireplace and he welcomed the warmth as he crossed into the kitchenette. A soft voice startled him. "Couldn't sleep?"

His eyes darted to where Granger was lying comfortably under a thick knit blanket, a Muggle book in her hands. Her hair was splayed out over the arm of the couch and she had one foot peeking out from under the blanket. A crippling awkwardness overtook him. This was the first time he had ever left his room after Astoria’s departure. He had never had to face her, post-sex. An unfamiliar tug pulled at his stomach, dragonflies flapped dangerously up his esophagus. Clearing his throat, he crossed to where she lay. "No…I'm assuming you couldn't either.”

"It's raining," she replied and for the first time, he noticed the lightning flashing outside.

Memories of their embrace in the rain flooded him and his knees went weak. His arms longed to hold her again, this time with her mind in the right place. "You're handling it incredibly well," he remarked, sitting on the couch across from her.

Holding up her book, she said, "I had to do some deep breathing, but I figured a bit of mindless reading would help." 

_ Frankenstein _ . "Not exactly a cheery children's story."

She looked at the cover with a huff of a laugh. "You've read it?"

Draco shrugged and couldn't help the slight smirk that reached his mouth. "My father hated anything Muggle-related, so naturally, I indulged in anything I could get my hands on. I paid muggle-borns throughout school to go to bookstores and bring me back whatever they could over holidays."

She gave him a look of disbelief. "This scar right here," he pointed at a circle within the cluster on his chest, "was because I indulged in Muggle dalliances."

Granger sat upright and looked at him in horror. "That's terrible."

"That's the life as the son of a Death Eater," Draco shrugged, as though it were the most normal thing he'd ever said; as if he was telling her he didn't care for the color yellow. “I was punished for every toe I put out of line.”

Granger gathered the blanket around her shoulders and came to sit next to him. Draco watched her every move, swallowing hard as she faced him and pulled her knees up. She rested her chin on one knee and reached a finger out to touch his chest, the small cluster of circular scars that marred one pectoral, leaving a blazing trail on his skin. No doubt she could feel his heart drumming a strong tattoo beneath her touch.

All too soon, she withdrew her hand and tucked into her blanket, her face full of unspoken sorrows. "There is so much I don't know about you; so much that doesn't fit with the image of you I held throughout the last seven years."

Draco chanced a look at her, flutters filling his entire body at her touch. “Maybe one day, you’ll get to know more.”

o-o-o

Hermione sat on one end of the couch and Malfoy on the other. When she had come out here to read, she hadn't expected to see him at any point. Astoria let herself out of his room after midnight and Hermione realized they must have silenced the room—Astoria’s emergence had genuinely surprised her. A burning ember sparked inside of Hermione, a spark of envy towards the raven-haired beauty.

Another hour had passed, and Hermione was getting ready to go to bed before he walked out. He wore nothing but a loose pair of joggers, slung effortlessly over his lean hips. It took every effort on her part not to stare at him with too much interest. They were silent for a long while, he stared straight ahead and glancing at her periodically from his peripheral and she allowed herself a peek at his bare skin occasionally.

Hermione had never looked him over too intensely in the past—only a sneak here or there. Staring in the fireplace beyond him, she snuck a peek and savored his handsome features for a few brief seconds before looking away. He was muscular, but not in a bulky way. He was thin, lean, and lithe, and she thought again of how his frame was similar to Harry's—a Seeker's build. Malfoy wore it so much better than Harry could ever hope to. His arms were stronger, his fingers longer, his skin infinitely more marred. 

It saddened Hermione to see all of the scars marking him—the long Sectumsempra slash; the cluster of Cruciatus circles; the random gash here or there; the ugly Dark Mark, unaffected by all of the long vertical lines he himself had sliced. The evidence of his self-inflicted regret caused an aching deep in her chest.

Malfoy drew one knee up to his chest and slung an arm over it. He sighed and looked over at her and she marveled at the way the dim light danced across his eyes, the eyes that had consumed her dreams and thoughts for far too long now. "Granger, does it bother you that Astoria comes around?" he asked, catching her completely off guard.

Incredulity transformed her face as she narrowed her eyes. "You're a grown man, Malfoy. You can keep…company with whomever you'd like."

Malfoy tucked her blanket around her uncovered red-painted toes. "That wasn't what I asked you," he murmured.

Why was he asking her this question?  _ Why does he care _ ? He'd been sleeping with Astoria at least three or four nights a week for almost a month now. She swallowed, completely lost on how to respond. When she looked up, he was staring at her, his hair falling into his eyes and she lost all ability to think. "If it bothers you, tell me, and it will cease immediately," Malfoy vowed quietly into the night.

Hermione searched his face but found his usual indifference. Only his tone betrayed his facial features—it was almost… _ pleading _ ? She averted her eyes to look into the fire once more. It definitely bothered her, though not for the reasons he probably thought. She gave one curt nod.

"Okay," he breathed and her heart started thumping.

He agreed not to bring the Slytherin around their shared commons anymore, but that did not mean he was to stop seeing her completely. They could easily find an empty classroom or broom closet to shag. The thought made her sick to her stomach. She looked at him and he seemed almost  _ lighter  _ as he gave her a half-smile. "I came out here for some hot cocoa and cake. Would you like some?" he offered congenially.

"Sure. Though, I don't know how to take your sudden kindness. I keep waiting for you to scream and rant," she muttered good-naturedly, smiling as she stood.

He gave her a sideways glance and sighed. "Don't expect me to be so kind tomorrow. It's terribly taxing."

Hermione laughed heartily. "Duly noted."

He served up two slices of a triple chocolate cake as she made two cups of cocoa. 

They fell into an awkward silence until she asked, "Are you prepared for the Masquerade tomorrow?"

It took him a long moment to respond with a dry, "I suppose."

She raised a brow. "Don't sound so excited.”

"I'm not really looking forward to it is all," he replied, finishing his cake and lifting his cup to his mouth.

Weren’t extravagant parties what Purebloods  _ did _ ? “Why not?”

"Well, for one, I'm not comfortable. In—in a mask…" her eyes widened.  _ Of course.  _ “And second, I'm going with Astoria. I don't look forward to telling her that our arrangement is ending."

"Well, I'm sure you'll be able to adjust,” Hermione muttered bitterly. “The rest of the students do.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, then an understanding of what she was implying crossed his face. He actually laughed—a throaty, appealing laugh. "Granger, I'm not just ending her coming to my room. I'm ending the arrangement completely. Her mother will throw an absolute fit. I may find myself dead by Christmas."

_ He’s breaking it off completely?  _ When he had asked earlier about Astoria, he was actually asking Hermione if his  _ relationship  _ with Astoria bothered her, not just the loud sex. She decided to lock that in a file in her mind for later—to overanalyze and worry herself over in the privacy of her own room. "You keep calling it an arrangement—"

Malfoy scoffed. "We agreed to put on a show for our mothers and engage in casual sex for our own benefit. She’s leaving England as soon as she graduates.”

"Casual?" she was growing increasingly more confused.

“I don’t love her,” he told her slowly. She understood what he was saying, but she didn't understand  _ what  _ he was saying. It blew her mind that two people could have loud, passionate sex repeatedly and feel absolutely nothing for one another outside of the sheets. Malfoy was giving that up and choosing to be alone, a terrible grievance in Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes…because it bothered Hermione to see him with Astoria? Her head was swimming and her belly lurched as though she would vomit. She needed to get away from his heady scent and the sight of his beautifully broken body, the riddles that he spoke. 

Her hands had begun shaking and Hermione rose, taking up the dishes to hide their quaking from Malfoy. He was so close to her back, she could practically feel the heat radiating off his body.  _ I need to get away. _

"I'm going to bed. It wouldn't do to have dark circles under my eyes, even under my mask," she told him, mumbling.

With a frown, he nodded and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and his right ankle over his left. "Night, Granger."

Hermione climbed into her bed, exhausted from the exchanges with Malfoy. Theo entered her mind, a guilty turn of her stomach reminding her that she was, in fact, casually dating him. Astoria had mentioned that Purebloods did nothing casually, but she was doing much the same with Malfoy. The sneaky, under-handed cunning of the Slytherins was enough to drive her absolutely batty.  __

 

_ Theo.  _ The more time she spent with Theo, the more she found that she liked him in the same way she liked Ron—he was similar to her friend in more ways than either of them would ever admit. He was funny and loved to tell loud, boisterous stories and had her laughing more often than not. He was goofy, smarter than many others, and desirable in the way that Ron was—sweet and caring. But he didn't have that bite, that edge she was so desperately searching for. 

Draco Malfoy was such a strange enigma, a riddle begging to be solved. They argued constantly—his sharp tongue never ceased to cut her down. And she had returned his attitude; cut him down with mentions of his Death Eater past; brought Astoria into their argument; nagged him incessantly about her lotion to the point of him breaking.

Even with his icy, harsh exterior, Hermione had also found a man capable of rescuing creatures and eating chocolate ice cream as a comfort mechanism; a man who could force her to face her fears for her own well-being; a man who could hold her tightly as thunder and lightning crashed around them, not bothering to cast a drying or warming charm on himself. 

Hermione desperately wanted to get to know  _ that  _ Malfoy. Not the cold, distant, biting man she purposely antagonized for her own pleasure, but the kind, good-hearted man Theo repeatedly boasted about. 

o-o-o

 


End file.
